


The Rod of Asclepius

by MeganWrites



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: (minor meaning... it's mentioned), Alternate Universe - Hospital, Deaths are all OC patients, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Mickey Milkovich/Original Male Character(s), Nurse!Mickey, doctor!ian, medicalintern!Ian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21552616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeganWrites/pseuds/MeganWrites
Summary: Ian is a nervous medical intern, Mickey is a grumpy nurse.[rewrite & repost of an old work]
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 232
Kudos: 442





	1. The Medical (Internship) Crisis

**Author's Note:**

> GENERAL WARNING HERE FOR THE FULL FIC: This is a fic about the medical world - there will be medical incidents such as diseases and injury, nothing too gory. There will also be very, very minor character deaths.
> 
> Hi, yeah, so I don't actually know how many of you reading Ian/Mickey fanfics would even remember me... but this is me (sort of) returning after many, many, many years absent. If you did read my works before I deleted a bunch of them - yep, this is me. I am re-posting and this is not someone else just claiming my old work. Okay, about the fic, it won't be exactly the same. I'm making a few new edits/changes. I might post the original separately again after I've posted this fully. It shouldn't take too long to post this but I don't like being on a schedule.
> 
> -
> 
> There is a Russian translation of this fic! You may know them as Fucking_Fish on here and they have been an absolutely delight to work with and discuss any concerns.  
> [Click here for the link!](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8907720) (or copy&paste this: https://ficbook.net/readfic/8907720)

_**May.** _

Breathe in – _one, two, three, four, five, six –_ and breathe out.

Ian clenches his fists tightly, digging his nails deeply into the palms of his hands and surely leaving half-moon shaped indents. He leans his back against the cool metal racks behind him and rests his head back. This stupid breathing exercise is supposed to help quell his anxiety and it is, somewhat. His heartbeat is steadying and he isn’t gasping for air anymore, but his mind is running rampant and no amount of deep breaths seems to be changing that.

Breathe in – _one, two, three, four, five, six –_ and breathe out.

Fuck. Ian’s pretty sure it’s universally recognized that your first day of work isn’t going well when you end up hiding in a storage closet. It’s probably even worse that he’s hiding because he’s are already too stressed – worse even still when the work he’s hiding from his helping to diagnose a patient.

Breathe in _(one, two, three, four, five, six)_ and breathe out.

Ian is seriously fucking this up. Why did he think going into medicine was a good idea? His brain is in overdrive listing all the reasons he is terrible and stupid but he remembers something about how this was his chance to still save lives after being rejected by the army. It seemed reasonable at the time but right now Ian wants to go back in time and knock himself around until he runs far, far away from medical school, internships, and any future residency.

Breathe in – _one, two, three, four, five, six –_ and breathe out.

It has only been six hours and he is already trying to bail ship. Eight years of highly competitive schooling that he basically killed himself to get through, and three hundred thousand dollars of tuition, all of it cumulating just to get him this point – theses six hours on an internship – and he’s ready to the run. Fuck, he is a fucking idiot. He never should have listened to Lip, he should have just become a trainer at a gym or working in a garage like Fiona. At least then he wouldn’t have completely screwed himself over financially.

Breathe in – _one, two, three, four, five, six –_ and breathe out.

He’s actually royally fucked himself. How is he ever going to be able to pay off that debt without a high paying job? It’s impossible. There is not even a whisper of a possibility, he can’t even daydream that there would be a possibility because now that he is going to have to leave after only six fucking hours, he won’t be making anything more than an average wage ever.

Breathe in _– one, two, three, fo –_ Fuck it. He breathes out harshly, none of this is helping him anyways.

Ian spins around and rests his forehead against the metal racks, closing his eyes and mutter under his breath, “Fuck, fuck, fuck” like a mantra of his ineptitude.

He’s so fucked.

The door bangs open and jumps to attention. His head snaps up and he spins back around, trying to think of an excuse he can use as to why he’s just been standing around in the supply closet for the past ten minutes. Ian doesn’t recognize the guy, he’s not sure if that makes him lucky or not, though he does feel the slightest relief when he notices the red nurse’s scrubs. He doesn’t even want to imagine how bad it would have been if his Attending has walked in, or worse, the Chief of Medicine.

The nurse crosses his arms and snorts loudly as the door closes behind him. “Fuck, you just lost me twenty bucks,” he says and shakes his head. He steps forward, pushing Ian aside to dig around on one of the metal shelves.

Ian blinks, “Excuse me?”

The nurse tilts his head to glance at Ian and sighs. He points an excusing finger at Ian, speaking slowly and clearly to make each word as poignant as possible. “You. Lost. Me. Money.” The nurse scowls and runs his eyes over Ian’s face, “You fuckin’ deaf, Raggedy Anne?”

“Did you just call me Raggedy Anne?” Ian asks, surprising himself by laughing lowly. Ian’s vaguely aware that the nurse seems peeved and that maybe it is not the best idea to be so close to him or to continue speaking to him, but for some reason being around the grouchy nurse is actually helping his nerves.

“Yeah, ‘cause you got the same fuckin’ mop.” The nurse gestures to Ian’s head and frowns deeply.

Ian laughs again and leans back against the metal racks. For all the years he’s heard insults and digs about his hair color, none of them have been so… lame. “Really?” Ian asks, “That’s the best you’ve got?”

The nurse clicks his tongue, “Could’ve called you Firecrotch or Coppercock, s’cuse me for trying not to be crude at work.”

Ian’s pretty sure the nurse has said _‘fuck’_ at least once per sentence, he gets the sense that either the nurse has forgotten it is a swear or cares very little about his level of crudeness at work.

“Still pretty uncreative,” Ian comments as he smiles smugly.

The nurse sneers and turns away from Ian, moving to the rack on the opposite side of the closet. “Whatever, asshole, at least I’m not hiding in a closet from my job.”

That strikes a nerve and Ian crumbles a little once again. “I’m just a little nervous,” Ian mutters, looking down and shuffling his feet.

The nurse scoffs and rolls his eyes, “No fuckin’ kidding, that’s why I lost – didn’t think you were the type to panic.”

Ian swallows and nods, the tightness in his chest is returning, the brief moment of calm swiftly dissipating. “Sorry,” Ian closes his eyes and clenches his fists again, he tries to remember the breathing exercises before he starts gasping for air. “I didn’t mean to – fuck.”

Ian feels a soft pressure on his arms and hears a gentle voice whispering, “Hey, hey, you okay? C’mon, you alright?”

Ian slowly opens his eyes and sees outstretched arms, recognizing the pressure he feels to be the nurse holding onto him. He looks up, the nurse is standing in front of him and watching him with a furrowed brow and concern clear on his face. “Sorry,” Ian repeats himself, looking back down and taking a few short harsh breaths, “I just can’t stop it.”

The nurse nods and keeps the soft grip on Ian’s arms. It’s nice and Ian’s glad he doesn’t let go, the pressure is grounding and warm. The nurse smiles tightly, “Let’s talk about something else for a bit, alright? What’s your name?”

“Uh – Ian, Ian Gallagher.”

“Ian Gallagher,” the nurse says as if he’s testing out who Ian’s name tastes on his tongue. He hums and smirks, “Mickey Milkovich.”

“Mickey,” Ian mumbles and smiles. He looks up again and finally feels steady enough to really notice the nurse. He scans Mickey’s face – he has thick lips and a pointed nose, day-old stubble making the shadow of a full beard, dark eyebrows, long eyelashes, and the bluest eyes Ian’s ever seen. He’s kind of beautiful, in an unconventional way and Ian wonders how he didn’t notice that earlier. “It suits you.”

Mickey snickers and swipes his tongue over his lower lip, “Glad you approve, Gallagher.” Ian laughs quietly along with Mickey and feels his heartbeat returning to normal once again.

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for this job,” Ian finds himself admitting quietly. Mickey releases Ian’s arms and Ian immediately misses the feel of Mickey’s calloused hands on his skin.

“You know, the bet was just on who we didn’t think would freak out on the first day.”

“Yeah, that makes me feel a lot better,” Ian answers with a frown.

Mickey rolls his eyes dramatically and smacks Ian’s arm lightly. “Yeah, alright, shut the fuck up. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that we were betting on who _wouldn’t_ freak out and only on the first day.”

That doesn’t clear things up for Ian and he frowns more deeply. Mickey notices and chuckles, “Every intern freaks the fuck out at some point.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the metal rack opposite to Ian. Mickey has the hint of a smile and Ian thinks it might even be a bit fond. “Most of you freak out the first day,” Mickey continues, “but if it’s not today, it’s just gonna be in three days or two weeks or one month.”

Ian’s lips quirk into a half-smile, “So, all the interns go through this?”

“Dead serious, you’re the fourth one I’ve found in here today.”

“You’re pretty good at this,” Ian muses, “Do you talk all the interns down from a panic attack?”

Mickey rolls his eyes and glares playfully, all his hostility from before seemingly faded away, “I’m not a fuckin’ therapist.”

“But you talked to me,” Ian quips as his smile grows wider.

Mickey bites down on his lower lip and looks at the door, keeping his eyes away from Ian as a light blush travels up his neck. “Yeah,” Mickey answers after a short silence and pushes away from the metal shelves. “Alright, Gallagher, let’s get out of here. Time to get back on the fuckin’ horse.” When Mickey looks back at Ian he’s got a little smile that makes Ian’s heart flutter.

Wait – _where did that come from?_

Mickey nudges Ian’s arm before Ian has too much time to consider the sudden _feelings_ floating around in his chest, and says, “I’ll even help you out with your patients for the rest of the day.”

Ian stands up straight and fumbles over his words quickly, “Oh, you don’t – I mean you probably have better things – I don’t want to keep you from –“

Mickey slaps a hand over Ian’s mouth and raises his eyebrows, “Seriously, Gallagher, just nod and follow my lead, okay?”

Ian nods quickly and Mickey pulls his hand away. Mickey opens the door and walks back into the hospital halls. Ian follows behind him obediently without a second of hesitation. Mickey guides him throughout the rest of the day. Every conversation with a patient, every IV, and every chart he reads – Mickey is next to him or nearby. Ian ends the day feeling like maybe – just maybe – with Mickey by his side, he’ll be able to make it through the next year.

That night Ian dreams of blue eyes and calloused hands.

He might have a crush.


	2. The Dependency Issue

_**July.**_

“Gallagher! Quit sipping shitty coffee and get your ass in gear, you’ve got a patient!”

Ian grins and looks up from the newspaper he had been reading, waiting to see Mickey barreling around the corner and into the intern’s lounge (which was really a couple of tables, chairs, and one coffee machine). One thing Ian’s learned about Mickey is that you’ll always hear him before you see him – unless he doesn’t want you to, but he’s usually really fucking pissed by then.

Mickey stops in the doorway, looking at Ian expectantly and gesturing behind him with his hand. “Seriously, Gallagher, get the fuck up and let’s move.” He rolls his eyes and grumbles to himself, “What is even the fuckin’ point in telling you to do shit?”

Ian shrugs and crosses his arms. “You could always try asking me instead.”

Mickey cocks an eyebrow and snorts, he shakes his head, “Not fuckin’ likely. Now – we’re moving.” He turns without waiting for Ian to stand up as if he knows that Ian will follow without question.

Mickey’s not wrong.

That is how it works these days. Mickey calls and Ian bends over backward to chase after him, eagerly listening to every bit of advice and each order. When it comes to Mickey, that’s just the way it is. Ian feels like an awkward, clingy kid with a crush.

That’s the other part – Ian _definitely_ has a huge crush.

Ever since meeting Mickey a months earlier, Ian has been completely enraptured by him. Ian dreams about him so often that it’s like Mickey’s taken over every part of his life. He hasn’t felt this way since, well, ever maybe. He spends every day at work blushing and bumbling around, vying for Mickey’s attention and inevitably ending up embarrassing himself.

At first, Ian had hoped that his crush was reciprocated, after all, Mickey had given him special treatment – he’d even bet on Ian for the nurse’s weird pool about Interns! Ian had walked into the hospital on his second day thinking about how he might be able to float the idea of going to a movie by Mickey, maybe grab dinner just before, and then he met Dana.

Dana is the head nurse. She’s possibly the shortest person Ian has ever met and definitely the loudest (in hindsight, it’s no wonder she and Mickey get along). Dana didn’t so much as introduce herself (didn’t introduce herself at all actually) as greet Ian by putting her hand on his arm and saying, “You know, only reason Mickey and I bet on you is because we thought you were one of those snooty, daddy-bought-my-degree, trust fund interns who would be too full of himself to think he could do wrong until at least a month in – this works out much better.” She smiled, winked at him, and gave his arm a light squeeze. “Mickey will watch out for you on the floor, but you need anything, let me know.”

Dana walked away and Mickey laughed, explaining, “We decided that we’re okay with losing money since you’re not a cocky asshole.”

Ian had not been aware that he ever looked like a cocky asshole, so that aspect had been enlightening, but it also meant that whatever reasons he had been imaging there was something _more_ with Mickey were mostly fabricated.

Still, Ian cannot help being a lovesick puppy with Mickey.

Luckily, Mickey doesn’t seem to mind Ian’s crush or Ian, and if he does then he never mentions it. Instead, Mickey makes a habit out of checking up on Ian’s patients periodically and hovering around when he knows that Ian has to do something that he isn’t quite comfortable with yet (like placing IV’s or prescribing serious medication). It’s nice, as if Mickey is a walking, talking, and infinitely grouchy security blanket. To Ian, it’s at least a thousand times better than any actual blanket could be, especially considering blankets don’t have stunning blue eyes that Ian could just fucking drown in.

This crush is becoming seriously debilitating. Maybe an actual security blanket would be better.

That’s not true – Ian would be completely lost without Mickey.

Ian follows Mickey down a flight of stairs and a long stretch of hallway. Mickey turns into a shared room and stands next to one of the beds with his arms crossed and a smug smile. Ian can tell right away that whoever this patient is has done something amusing that Mickey will surely be laughing to Ian about later. Ian smiles politely, despite his curiosity for what Mickey has to say, and greets the young man in the bed.

“Hello, Mr. …” Ian trails off as he grabs the chart from the end of the bed and reads the name quickly, “Milkovich.” He blinks and reads over the name again, looks up at the patient and then to Mickey. “Mr. Milkovich,” he repeats slowly, continuing to switch his gaze between the two men. He supposes they look somewhat alike, both having a stockier build and blue eyes, but there are so many differences it’s hard to tell if they’re actually related or not. “Uh,” Ian opens and closes his mouth a few times, furrowing his brow and trying to decide how to continue from this point. Should he just assume they aren’t related? But what if they are and Mickey thinks he’s being an asshole? Or, what if he assumes that they are related and they aren’t? Mickey would probably think he was an asshole then too.

Milkovich can’t be _that_ common of a name though.

Mickey clears his throat loudly; his eyebrows are raised nearly to his hairline in a way that makes Ian think that Mickey is probably already thinking that Ian is an asshole.

“So, are you two related?” Ian finally asks, giving up on any hope that he can get out of this situation without being hopelessly awkward.

“Yeah, Nurse Nancy here is my little brother,” the patient answers with a big grin.

Ian almost laughs but notices a sharp glare from Mickey and quickly stops himself. For someone who doles out ridiculous nicknames like it’s his God-given right, Mickey certainly doesn’t have a great sense of humor for receiving one.”

“So,” Ian says, clearing his throat, “Mr. Milkovich, or do you prefer Viggo?”

“Just call me Iggy,” Mickey’s brother – Iggy – answers, waving his hand, “Fuckin’ parents gave us all these bullshit uppity names; none of us fuckin’ use them.”

Ian notes that vulgarity seems to be a family trait, also, “so, Mickey is short for?”

“Not fuckin’ likely,” Mickey snaps and gestures to the clipboard in Ian’s hand, a clear indication to get back to business.

Ian nods shortly and says, “Right, Iggy. So, it says here you got a cut on your arm?

“Makes it sound like a paper cut,” Iggy growls and lifts a loosely bandaged right arm, placing it on his lap and in Ian’s vision. Ian takes a step closer, eying his arm. He starts pulling off the bandaging and notices the letters ‘FUCK’ tattooed across his knuckles. “Interesting tattoo choice,” Ian notes.

“Gotta know who the fuck they're dealing with,” Iggy says with a vicious grin, lifting up his left hand to show off ‘U-UP’ over the knuckles on that hand. “Shame Mick’s gotta cover his up, we’ve all got ‘em, ‘cept Mandy.”

Ian glances over at Mickey, trying not to make it too obvious that he is shocked by this. Mickey looks annoyed, his lips pursed as he scratches just above his eyebrow. Ian notices skin colored bandages over Mickey’s knuckles and wonders how he had missed that before. “Moving on,” Mickey hisses.

Ian looks back at the bandages and tries to hide a smile. He loves learning about Mickey and therefore loves that Iggy is here.

Ian gets the last of the bandages off and starts examining the cut. It’s not the worst that Ian has seen while working in the hospital but it’s definitely not good. It’s more of a gash than a cut, it’s jagged and deep, three inches long and across Iggy’s forearm – he’s seriously lucky that nothing serious was severed. Iggy will at the very least need stitches and likely some shots and antibiotics to prevent infection.

“How’d you get this?” Ian asks, even though he’s not sure Iggy will give a straight answer.

Iggy shrugs, “Ran into some guys and shit happens.”

That’s about the detail Ian had been expecting. Ian nods and scribbles down on the chart that Iggy will need his blood tested – just in case – and probably some shots. Ian looks up at Iggy and smiles, “Alright, Iggy, so we’ll get this cleaned up, apply some anti-bacterial, give you some stitches, and then I think we’ll test your blood in case of any contamination. When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?”

Iggy looks at Mickey with his brow furrowed, “Never?” He seems to be asking it.

Mickey shrugs, “Probably.”

“Alright, so also a tetanus shot then!” Ian declares and stops scribbling on the clipboard. Ian is about to ask if Iggy is ready when Mickey interrupts.

“Ay, Gallagher, can I talk to you for a second?” He steps forward from where he’s been standing more or less stoically since Ian walked in the room.

Ian frowns but nods, looking back at Iggy and saying, “We’ll be right back.” He wonders if there is a medical condition with Iggy that Iggy hasn’t brought up.

Mickey exits the room ahead of Ian and leads him to a nearby empty on-call room. The door shuts behind Ian and he watches as Mickey wrings his hands tightly together and clicks his tongue. He seems nervous – which throws Ian for a loop, he’s never seen Mickey as anything less than confident. Mickey pauses and turns to look at Ian, raising his hands and taking a deep breath.

“So, I can do all this shit for Iggy, Gallagher, you don’t have to worry about that.”

Ian frowns and leans against one of the bunk beds in the room. “Alright, so why did you bring me in there? Not that I mind learning about your family customs.”

Mickey scowls and flips Ian off but there’s no real heat behind it – he’s really nervous about something.

Ian chuckles and says, “Okay, what is it?”

“Need someone to sign off on it.”

“Anyone could sign off on this, Mickey,” Ian answers.

Mickey looks down, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and scratching at the back of his neck. He curses under his breath and looks up, “He doesn’t have insurance and he doesn’t have any money.”

Oh.

Ian gets it, honestly, he does. He and Mickey both grew up on the Southside, Back of the Yards, they had bonded over that a few weeks earlier (oddly close to each other as well – but Ian doesn’t want to dwell on how much earlier he could have known Mickey). Life growing up there isn’t easy – it’s barely surviving and scraping by on almost nothing. Health insurance just is not a priority when you need to pay for food and heating. Most of Ian’s family has gotten out of that cycle by now, Fiona has a steady job at a garage, Lip working in robotics and engineering and his younger siblings making their way through College. At the beginning there had been a little financial boost from Lip and his long-time girlfriend Amanda – they’d really lucked into that one (Amanda had oddly turned out to be a game-changer for Lip and for the family). It was strange to think about it now, how much that had struggled before and now with just a little bit of help, the Gallagher’s were… not flourishing, but they weren’t struggling.

It’s clear that Mickey’s family hadn’t lucked out quite as much.

“Look,” Mickey begins, clearly his nerves had gone up due to Ian’s prolonged silence, “I know that it’s risky, especially in your first year here but he’s fuckin’ family, and you know they aren’t going to give him shots at the free clinics or test his blood, and that can fuckin’ kill you if there’s something. I just – fuck, I’m trusting you here, Gallagher.” He lets out a long, exasperated breath and drops onto a nearby bed. He keeps his gaze steadily on the ground and says softly, “if you can – if you will just help me out.”

Ian gets the sense this isn’t something Mickey does often. Ian’s trying not to read too much into, putting his big, stupid crush aside because this seems to Ian like it’s important that this isn’t about that. He moves away from the wall and sits next to Mickey, smiling gently as Mickey looks up at him nervously.

“Of course, Mickey. Yes, absolutely I will help you,” Ian answers nudging Mickey’s knee with his own. “You’ve had my back these past couple months, I’ve got yours. No explanation needed and no questions asked.”

Mickey’s gaze softens, he looks at least ten years younger and so much more innocent. It’s as if the idea that someone might want to be there for him is completely foreign to anything he’s ever known. Ian feels the sudden urge to wrap his arms around Mickey and shield him from any pain the world may have caused him.

Mickey nods and stands up, breaking the oddly intimate moment and pointing to the door. “So, we should go help him out now?”

“Yep! Just, you’ll have to walk me through this whole scamming the hospital thing,” Ian responds with a light laugh.

Mickey smirks and opens the door, “You’ve got it, Gallagher.”

Later that night, once Ian’s shift is over and he’s getting ready to leave, he sees that Mickey is still there – sitting in the waiting room and wearing street clothes and typing something on his phone.

“I thought you were out of here at six?” Ian says as he approaches Mickey, it’s nearly eight now.

Mickey looks up at him and shrugs, he’s got a big, genuine smile when he sees Ian and says, “Just decided to stick around a bit.”

Ian is so fucked.

“Oh?” Ian asks, trying to play it cool but he’s sure he sounds flustered. Ian is the least ‘cool’, for certain.

“Want to grab a beer?” Mickey asks suddenly, “I’m buying.”

Ian nods three or four times before he’s even really registered what the question was. All Ian knows is that he wants to go wherever Mickey goes, so saying no was never an option.

They go to the bar and spend hours there nurse no more than two beers each. Mickey tells Ian stories about Iggy and his childhood, Ian exchanges with a couple of his own. After some pestering Mickey even relents and shows Ian is knuckle tattoos – though Ian thinks that Mickey is secretly proud of them since he had a smug smile as he showed them off.

Ian has never made such a close friend so quickly in his life.


	3. The Discovery Obstacle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Use of some homophobic slurs and there is an OC who is homophobic in one section - nothing worse than what is in the show but it is there.

**_August._ **

It’s a beautiful day outside and Ian has spent most of his day staring longingly out the windows of the hospital. Ian’s about to go down to the cafeteria for lunch when Mickey snags his arm and tells him (which is Mickey’s method of asking) that they are going to the hotdog stand in the park across the street. Ian’s hungry and eager to get outside so he follows Mickey without any real consideration.

Oh – also, he’s a little crazily infatuated with Mickey, so that might have helped influence his decision.

Ian naturally has a longer stride than Mickey – probably due to the five-inch height difference. He tries to take small steps to accommodate for Mickey’s limited leg length, but it only serves to make Ian look awkward and Mickey keeps giving him a weird look as they walk.

(Ian needs to learn how to act like a normal human being around Mickey – he’s working on it.)

Mickey lights a cigarette the moment they’ve passed the fifteen-foot radius. Ian finds it oddly appealing that despite Mickey’s extensive knowledge and experience in how damaging smoking can be, he continues to stick with it. It’s stubbornly stupid, sure, but still appealing.

They talk about stupid life things the whole walk there, but it’s nice having someone to talk about stupid things with.

“Debbie’s birthday is next week, still no fucking clue what to get her,” Ian says.

Mickey takes a long drag, “I got Mandy a knife one time.”

Ian hums, Debbie’s had a few violent phases in life, but he doubts she ever would have been happy with a knife as a gift. “No, she’s the sister with the daughter though, so I was thinking maybe something she could treat herself to?”

“Like what? Some spa shit?”

Ian shrugs, “That could work – is that expensive?”

Mickey looks over at Ian and cocks an eyebrow, “In what fuckin’ world would I know that? Maybe if you’re sending her to a rub n’ tug, man.”

Ian laughs and shrugs, “Well, you never know.”

They reach the hotdog stand and Mickey buys two for each of them. Ian tries his best to ignore the warm tingling sensation at the small action. Realistically, he knows it’s just something co-workers do for each other on occasion, but he can’t help it. He’s lovestruck and stupid – the heart is rarely rational.

Mickey sets out walking again and Ian falls into step behind him, staring at his feet and trying his best to keep at the slightly slower than comfortable pace. They’ve barely made it across the street when someone bumps into Ian hard enough to knock his left shoulder back, make him stumble and drop one of his hotdogs. Ian blinks and turns to look after the guy, a little confused by what just happened.

“What the fuck’s your problem?!” Mickey bellows, gesturing in the air and scowling, “Watch where you’re fuckin’ steppin’!”

The guy turns and yells out, “Asshole!”

Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks at Ian, “The fuck did he just say?” He looks back at the guys, but he’s already taken off, jogging around the corner and leaving their line of sight. “Too many fuckin’ dicks in this city. If he ends up in the hospital he better fuckin’ pray someone else is helping him.”

Ian chuckles, partially because he knows Mickey’s threats are empty (Mickey would never risk his job over a grudge – outside of the hospital is a different story though), and partially because he thinks Mickey’s overreacting a little. Mickey’s quick to anger though.

Mickey turns his irate glare to Ian, softening a bit as he does a quick scan of Ian, “I take it you’re good then, Giggles.”

“Yeah, Mick, I’m fine.”

Mickey sniffs harshly, scratching at his eyebrow and looking away from Ian, “Good. C’mon, man, let’s get you another dog.” He turns around and shakes his head, mumbling, “Fuckin’ shithead motherfuckers,” to himself.

Ian grins as he watches Mickey, turning and following him again. He’s probably reading too much into the moment again, but Mickey seems overly protective of him. If Ian though smoking was appealing, this is downright fucking sexy and among the most endearing things Ian has ever seen.

-

****

Mickey tilts his head up and points to a thick white scar under his chin. “Jumping off the roof when I was ten.”

Ian snorts, “Jumping off the roof?”

“Yeah,” Mickey answers with a shrug and leaning back in his chair, it creaks a bit because the chairs in the Intern lounge are old and uncomfortable. “In the winter we’d just pile up a shit ton of snow in the back and jump into it. Fuckin’ fun time but roulette on who was getting injured.”

“And it was worth it because?” Ian prompts and laughs when Mickey shrugs.

“Usually wasn’t me getting hurt. I hit a rock or something that time, didn’t hurt too bad though. Dumped some vodka on it and Colin stitched it up.” Mickey takes a long gulp from his water. “Alright, Gallagher, you’re up. Or did I finally beat you?” He waggles his eyebrows and grins.

Ian laughs loudly and shakes his head, “You wish, Milkovich.” He kicks his left leg out and pulls up the pant leg on his scrubs. He points at a long scar along the back of his calf. “Sixteen, jumping a fence while running from security after Lip and I stole a laser.”

Mickey huffs out a laugh and almost looks impressed, “You stole a laser?”

Ian nods and smiles, “Lip made me ditch him so I wouldn’t get a record, just sprinted home and didn’t even notice it was bleeding until I stopped and saw all the blood.”

“Shit, man. The neighbour lady stitch you up again?”

“Vee – yeah, she always did.”

Mickey snickers, “Pussy, didn’t even do it yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah. Not all of us can be as ghetto as you,” Ian answers with an eye-roll and playfully shoves Mickey’s arm. He catches Mickey grinning and biting on his lip, and Ian pauses for a moment to watch Mickey so content and happy. It’s beautiful. Ian knows he could get addicted to seeing that smile.

He swallows, trying to tame the thumping in his chest, and breathes in. “Your turn.”

-

**_September._ **

Filling out paperwork is Ian’s least favorite part of being a Doctor. He’s always been more hands-on, prefers to be moving and actively doing something (part of the reason he wanted to join the army, he thinks bitterly) – paperwork feels stagnant. He groans loudly and drops his head down to rest on the opened folder. He’s standing at the Nurse’s desk and leaning down puts him at an odd angle, but he needs to rest his brain and resting his head seems like the best way to do that. He stays like that until he feels a strong poke in his side.

He shoots up, standing straight, and see Mickey walking past.

“Your back’s gonna be sore as fuck if you sleep there,” Mickey calls out as he walks.

Ian half-smiles and keeping his eyes glued to Mickey until he is around the corner before turning back to his paperwork. It only takes a couple of seconds for him to notice that Dana, who is sitting at the computer behind the desk, is watching him with a smug smile.

“What?” Ian asks, eyes shifting around the room, trying to hide his discomfort.

She stands and saunters around the desk to where Ian is standing and leans on the desk next to him. “Somebody has a crush,” she hums.

Ian shakes his head quickly, “Me? On Mickey? No way – nope.” He denies it vehemently, wary that anything he says, or even implies, might make its way back to Mickey and wreck their friendship. Ian notices the skeptical look on Dana’s face and realizes that his denial may have had the opposite effect.

“Sure,” Dana says after a long gap of silence, she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “You know, he’s been working here just over five years now and I’ve never seen him actually get along with any doctor.”

“Really?” Ian asks, looking down at her hopefully. He feels like an idiot for it, but he can’t seem to stop himself from being so dopey when thinking about Mickey.

Dana laughs and nods, “Always wants to do things his own way – avoids the doctors until it becomes absolutely necessary. Calls all of you a bunch of pretentious assholes.”

Ian knew that part. Mickey always likes to mutter rude things about Ian’s attending Doctor Samuels after Ian’s finished rounds. Mickey gets pretty creative with the foul names.

“I get complaints about him all the time for the crap he pulls with these doctors.” Dana sighs, “I swear, if he wasn’t so damn good at his job then he wouldn’t be here. But he is – he’s great at this job. He’s smarter than half of these doctors, knows the patients better, and stays until he’s sure the whole job is done – even if his shifts ended.” She smiles at Ian, she doesn’t seem notice that she’s gone on a tangent but Ian likes to hear how someone else admires Mickey as much as he does. “He’s the most dedicated nurse I’ve ever met,” she finishes.

And of course, Dana is right. Ian has seen it a hundred times over. Mickey complains about work more than anybody Ian’s ever met, but it’s mostly just about the Doctors. When it comes to the actual nursing and healing part of the job, Mickey dives right in. He loves it, loves being able to send people away better off than when they came in. Even if Mickey looks grumpy when he’s doing it, Ian can always see the little spark in his eyes as he sends someone out the doors all fixed up. And Mickey is so, so smart. Smarter than Ian, that’s for sure, he corrects Ian all the time on what he’s doing. Once, Doctor Samuels had told Ian to set a patient up with antibiotics, Ian had almost been ready to put in the IV when Mickey held him back and stopped him – turned out that the patient was allergic. It wasn’t the first time that Mickey had corrected both Ian and Doctor Samuels, and far from the last as well.

“You’re lucky he’s taken a liking to you,” Dana interrupts Ian’s stream of consciousness, returning to her original point.

Ian shakes his head and looks back down at the desk, “Well, only because you asked him to look out for me though.”

“You thought that was me? Hell no! I like you, kid, but he came over here and told _me_ that you were worth helping out.” Dana puts a hand on Ian’s arm and squeezes gently, “He looks out for the people he likes, I think you’ll be here for a while.”

She steps away just a Mickey is rounding the corner again.

He peeks around Ian’s arm and frowns, “You even doing anything? That is the exact same page you were on five minutes ago, man.” He steps closer, getting into Ian’s space, arms nearly brushing. “You better not be playing Solitaire on your phone.”

Ian huffs and rolls his shoulders back, focusing on the paperwork again and away from Mickey. He’s hyper-aware that Dana is only a couple of feet away and watching the interaction between them. It’s making him a bit anxious to prove something. “I’m working, Mickey.”

“Uh-huh,” Mickey responds and pushes away from the desk, walking away again, “Working at that pace is gonna take you for- _fuckin’-_ ever!”

Ian sneaks a look as Mickey disappears down the hall, biting the inside of his cheek and trying to keep his face as neutral as possible. It’s a truly impossible feat.

Dana scoffs loudly, mutters, “Says he doesn’t have a crush.”

-

Mrs. Penelope Gunn is rich as fuck, which, Ian has learned, somehow always goes hand-in-hand with being belligerent as fuck. Ian has the distinct pleasure of standing next to Mrs. Gunn and listen as the old lady lists off all her symptoms despite the fact that Ian has them written down on the chart he is holding. Doctor Samuels had dumped “easy” cases on all the interns after rounds and Mrs. Gunn’s was Ian’s. Mickey is switching out her IV bags, so at least Ian has someone to share subtle annoyed looks with.

She has a persistent fever that hasn’t been diagnosed and pain in the abdominals. Ian didn’t like Mrs. Gunn much from the first moment she was admitted, but it isn’t until Ian suggests testing for STIs that he really can’t stand her.

“What? Like AIDs?” She scoffs and looks away, “No, son, that cannot be it. I don’t even associate with queers.”

Ian’s a little startled at her words. He’s used to homophobic comments and slurs – he grew up on the Southside in the Back of the Yards – so it’s not anything new that someone would down on him for his sexual preference, but he’s used to it being more hostile. Hearing some asshole yell ‘faggot’ or seeing it spray painted somewhere, getting in a fight to prove he wasn’t a ‘fairy’ – that’s the type of shit he’s used to. It’s blunt, clear, and not some lady politely telling him that she doesn’t ‘associate with queers’.

“There are other sexually transmitted infections beyond AIDs,” Ian answers coolly as he closes the chart and places it at the foot of Mrs. Gunn’s bed. “And I think we should test for them.” Mrs. Gunn looks like she’s about to argue again but Ian cuts her off quickly, “Besides, you never know who’s queer these days. Maybe your hairdresser, barista, grocer, or doctor.” He smiles tightly at Mrs. Gunn’s widening eyes and turns on his hell, briskly walking out of the room.

Mickey follows behind him, leaving Mrs. Gunn to process the revelation on her own ( _Maybe, she’ll request a new doctor,_ Ian vaguely hopes). It’s only then he realizes what he had admitted, or implied, in front of Mickey. He fears for a moment that this could be a breaking point in their friendship. It’s a stereotype, Ian knows that, but Mickey is from the Southside too. Over the months Ian has worked with Mickey he’s learned that Mickey’s been to Juvie at least twice, so it wouldn’t be a stretch to think Mickey used to like to ‘fag-bash’ in his free time.

Ian sucks in a breath and wills himself to turn around – face the music, one way or another, because there’s no denying that Mickey knows he’s gay.

It almost knocks an over when he sees Mickey is grinning and laughing. He didn’t think Mickey was going to drop him or anything, but acceptance seemed like too much of a stretch. Maybe he didn’t hear? Or thought Ian was joking?

“What?” Ian asks cautiously.

“That was ballsy, man,” Mickey answers and claps Ian on the back. “She’s rich as hell and pissed off, that never goes over well with the Chief.”

Ian shrugs and looks down at the ground, he’s still a little worried that Mickey’s reaction isn’t real. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Yeah, well, I’ll just tell him she has being homophobic. I’ll probably just get a slap on the wrist for it.”

Mickey hums in agreeance and tilts his head to the side, watching Ian closely. He reaches forward and puts his thumb under Ian’s chin, it’s warm and the pad is rough – Ian wants to fall into the feeling. He lifts Ian’s chin up gently until Ian’s eyes are forced to meet Mickey’s.

“You good, Gallagher?” Mickey asks, his eyebrows drawn together in what looks like concern.

Ian nods, regretting it almost instantly when Mickey pulls his hand back.

Mickey steps back, running a hand through his hair and mussing it up at the back. “She’s a crotchety old bitch, wouldn’t listen to anything she says.” Mickey shoots Ian one last big grin and points a thumb over his should, “You stay out here and chill, I’ll go get that blood for you.”

Mickey leaves and Ian feels like he’s on top of the world.

-

**_October._ **

Ian leans against the door frame of a private hospital room, watching as Mickey jokes around with a little girl named Susie who is getting stitches. He’s waiting for Mickey to finish his shift so they can go for a couple of beers. Ian’s shift ended a half-hour earlier and Mickey’s was supposed to end ten minutes ago. Mickey’s helping Susie though, so Ian figures he can wait. Susie has a deep gash on the top of her head that requires at least ten stitches. She had shown up at the hospital not too long ago, sat with her parents patiently in the waiting room, never shedding a single tear. Mickey had pulled some strings and gotten her a stuffed toy bear, and from then on she had a toothy grin, telling everyone that she was her broken head teddy bear.

It’s something else watching Mickey work. He warns Susie every time he is about to push the needle through her skin, even though the area has been numbed to pain. Each time she scrunches her nose and draws in a sharp breath, but nothing more. Mickey takes a little longer than normal, making sure everything is perfect before telling Susie it’s all done. She is smiling and clinging to her teddy, then lunges forward and wraps her arms as far around Mickey’s middle as she can. Mickey awkwardly pats her on the back and Ian laughs quietly as he watches.

It’s actually a really sweet scene though.

Susie’s parents return to the room a few seconds later, ready to take Susie home and both of them thank Mickey profusely. Mickey waits until Susie and her family has left before he flips Ian off, rolling his eyes at Ian’s grin.

“Stop being a dick,” Mickey snaps. If Ian didn’t know Mickey as well as he does, he might think that Mickey was actually mad.

Ian laughs again and steps into the room, “Stop being cute.”

Mickey grimaces, “What did I tell you about calling me cute?”

 _Not to do it_ , Ian remembers. It had been a short but firm discussion after the word kind of fell out of Ian’s mouth one day, but Ian still can’t stop himself from thinking it. Mickey is always some combination of cute, gorgeous, and sexy. “You were cuddling with a four-year-old, this is a special situation,” Ian defends himself.

Mickey shakes his head as he finishes cleaning up the garbage around the bed, mumbling, “Fuck off.”

“Aren’t we going for beers though?”

Mickey nods and rolls his eyes, “Yeah, I remember, six months and all that shit.” He wanders out of the room, calling out, “I’m going to change into street clothes, meet you out front in five.”

Ian barely notices as Mickey walks away, too focused on what he said.

Six months at the hospital.

Has it really been that long?


	4. The Task Inadequacy

**_November._ **

Ian’s seen the same story on the news hundreds of times, different names and different places, but all with the same generic lines. Drunk driver causes a car crash, drunk driver is picked up from crash site mostly unscathed, drunk driver leaves an innocent victim permanently scarred because of their self-centered stupidity.

This time is no different.

Beverly Jones had only turned sixteen a few weeks earlier, she had just gotten her license and was driving on her own for the first time. She followed every rule, paid attention, and drove carefully, but it didn’t matter in the end. A T-bone collision on the driver's side should have killed her, the EMT’s and Doctor Samuels keep saying how lucky she is – even Dana said it.

Ian needs to bite his tongue each time and stop himself from screaming out; _“Bullshit!”_

Beverly is not lucky, not as lucky as she should be, not as lucky as the drunk upstairs with stitches on his forehead and a broken arm.

Beverly Jones is not dead but she is paralyzed from the waist down – and that is not fucking lucky.

Ian stands outside of her temporary room in the ICU, looking through the windows at her parent's fretting and barely speaking to each other as they circle her bed, tucking and untucking the blankets. Beverly is still hasn’t woken up, mostly due to the medication at this point, but it should only be a few more hours. Ian needs to break the news to her parents before then. He takes a long, deep breath and steels himself for the conversation.

“Doctor,” Mrs. Jones greets Ian as he steps into the room. Ian shakes both Mr. and Mrs. Jones’s hands politely with a curt smile, aware that the pleasantries will end soon.

Mr. Jones steps back and takes Beverly’s hand, he looks at Ian with a nervous hopefulness, “So, how is our daughter?”

“She’s stable, we’re going to keep monitoring all of her vitals, obviously, but we are extremely confident that she is not at risk of dying,” Ian explains and feels a stab of guilt when he sees their relieved and happy faces. “But I have some bad news.”

Their smiles fade slightly.

“What is it?” Mrs. Jones asks moving to the other side of Beverly’s bed and clutching her free hand.

Ian hates this – he hates that he will be the one to crush them like this.

“There has been extensive damage to Beverly’s legs, back, and spinal cord, which has left Beverly a paraplegic,” Ian speaks carefully, trying to keep his words from shaking as he sees Mrs. Jones's eyes begin to water. “This means she will have no feeling in her lower extremities. The damage is unfortunately too severe to operate on her with any hope of success.”

Mr. Jones walks closer to Ian, his eyes red and wet with unshed tears, “Can’t you do anything?”

Ian swallows, “I’m very sorry Mr. and Mrs. Jones, but no, I can’t. Short of a miracle, your daughter will never be able to walk again.”

Ian watches as both parents deteriorate, going from the joy that their daughter has survived such a terrifying and horrifying incident to distraught at the knowledge that she will be spending the rest of her life in a wheelchair. Ian’s never seen parents so concerned for their child, for a moment it almost makes him jealous that he’s never had that before he remembers why he’s here.

Mr. Jones breaks the silence first. “What room is the other driver in?”

“I can’t tell you that, I’m sorry,” Ian answers with a shake of his head.

Mr. Jones's expression turns dark, his voice scarily low, “I want to see the bastard who did this to my daughter and make sure he knows exactly what he’s done.”

Ian nods, “I understand where you are coming from, sir, but the police are handling the driver and I cannot release that information. I am very sorry.”

“What good are you then?!” Mrs. Jones finally bursts out the words, shouting angrily, red-faced and sobbing. “You can’t fix our daughter and you can’t even give us the slightest bit of justice for what he’s done! This is a useless fucking place!” Her shouts are echoing through the room as tears stream down her cheeks.

Ian tries to keep his face neutral but he’s beginning to crack. He can feel the familiar burn of panic building his chest, his airway feels like it’s swollen and closing, and Ian knows that he needs to leave. “I’m very sorry if there is anything else we can do to help just…” Ian’s words taper off as he stares at the couple's devastated faces. He swallows hard and tries to keep his voice steady, “We’ll do everything we can to help you. I’m very sorry.”

Ian turns and rushes out of the room before either Mr. or Mrs. Jones can say anything to stop him. He can still hear Mr. Jones cursing and Mrs. Jones sharp sobs as he rushes down the hall. Ian picks up his pace, as he walks down the halls, trying to find a closet or an on-call room or any doorway that leads to some semi-private he can hide and fall apart. A few steps outside of the ICU he finds a door to a stairwell, it’s not an ideal spot but he knows most doctors and patients don’t waste their time with stairs anymore. He rushes through the door and slams his back against the nearest wall, sliding down until he is seated on the cool, white, speckled linoleum. He breathes in harshly, stuttering and gasping as the panic fully sets in and he tries to remember his breathing exercises.

Breathe in – _one, two, three, four, five, six_ – and breathe out.

Ian feels like a failure. He’s spent nearly half his life learning how to heal and is now incapable of doing that.

Breathe in – _one, two, three, four, five, six_ – and breathe out.

It is so reminiscent of his first day of work that Ian almost feels like he’s been transported back in time to that moment. Mickey had said that every intern panics at first, he wonders if that still applies more than half a year later. He knows it doesn’t. He should have gotten his act together by now, he should be able to handle this shit, he’s just a fuck up.

Just as Ian is about to take another deep breath the door slams open. Ian startles and looks up to see Mickey standing in the doorway with a determined expression. It’s a mix of anger and concern the leaves Mickey looking more worried than Ian’s seen him before. Mickey does a quick scan of the stairwell before his eyes land on Ian beside the door.

“The fuck, Gallagher?” Mickey growls, “I’m dealing with that bitch Mrs. Bann and I see you stomping down the hall like there’s a fire under your ass.” He crosses his arms and glares, “Had to check every fuckin’ door on the way down here to see where you were hiding.”

Ian just shrugs, not sure that he can properly express the words he needs to say. He’s still heaving loud breaths, making panting noises that bounce around the solid walls of the stairwell. He can’t calm himself down. “Fuck, Mick,” he says between sharp breathes. “Shit, fuck.”

Any heat and anger on Mickey’s face dissipates and Mickey drops to his knees in front of Ian. He grabs one of Ian’s hands and grips it tightly, holding Ian down like an anchor.

“Gallagher,” Mickey says, his voice is shaky giving away his own nerves. Ian hates that he’s making Mickey nervous or that he might be causing any stress for him. Mostly Ian hates that he can’t just handle this on his own and that he needs Mickey there. Ian is a fucking doctor – fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Mickey is staring at Ian, searching his eyes and chewing on lip nervously before he seems to decide what to do. “Ah, when I was nineteen my brother’s and I were robbing his house on the Northside.” He clears his throat and settles a bit more. “We got a tip from the guy who was paying us to get the job done that there would just be this batty old lady there, too fucked up on drugs and booze to even notice us taking all her shit in the middle of the day.” Mickey smiles at the memory, seeming to start to forget why he’s here talking to Ian. Ian finds his breathing starting to normalize too, it seems Mickey’s story is distracting them both.

“So we were grabbing all this fuckin’ shit, didn’t even bring guns because we’re fuckin’ stupid, and then Iggy and me see this big fuckin’ clock. Looked like it was worth a lot so we tried to take it, turns out that the clock was too heavy. We dropped it, batty old bitch comes down the stairs with a fuckin’ shotgun and we’re booking out of there fast as we can. Didn’t matter though ‘cause she starts firing and shoots me in the ass.”

Ian huffs a laugh, he feels more like himself again, he can breathe easily, and his heart is thumping painfully in his chest. It’s Mickey’s voice, Ian is sure, no matter the context it was a soothing effect on him.

“You have a scar to prove that?”

Mickey grins cheekily and quirks an eyebrow, “Curious little fucker, you are. Maybe I’ll show you sometime.”

Ian laughs again, this time it’s louder and comes more easily. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

Mickey snorts and shoves at Ian’s arm, “Man, shut the fuck up.”

“You’re the one who offered to show me your ass,” Ian raises his free hand in defense.

Mickey rolls his eyes, dropping Ian’s hand and shoving his shoulder gently. Mickey shuffles off his knees and moves to lean against the wall next to Ian. Mickey clicks his tongue a couple of times and Ian knows what is coming. “You feel like telling me what happened?”

Ian looks down at his hands, “The girl, in the car accident with the drunk, she’s never gonna be able to walk again.”

Mickey nods and tilts his head back looking up at the distant ceiling of the stairwell. “Shit, fuckin’ hate that about this job. Some people just get shitty luck when they don’t deserve it, sucks to watch happen.”

Ian can feel the burning starting in his chest again and tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. “I just can’t believe it though, she’s only sixteen and she can’t fucking walk. I know it’s not a death sentence but – fuck.” His eyes are watery, tears escaping at the corners and leaving thin streaks on his cheeks. “You should’ve seen her parents. They were so mad at me and all they wanted was to see the fucker who did this to her. He would deserve that too. He would deserve them fucking yelling in his face about the shit that he did, but I can’t let them do that. I can’t help them – I can’t do anything to help them! I can’t fix their daughter, I can’t even do my fucking job!” Ian lets out a choked sob as he finishes speaking. He feels even more pathetic than he did on his first day – what the fuck is wrong with him.

Mickey is immediately grabbing Ian’s shoulders and turning him to face Mickey.

“What the fuck? How can you think that? It’s not your fault that some asshole got drunk and it’s not your fault that some things can’t be fixed. Fuck Ian, you just can’t think that way. None of this is your fault and there is nothing more anyone could do. You did everything right, you always do. You have no fuckin’ clue how great you are.” Mickey reaches out to Ian’s face, cradling Ian’s cheek with his hand and using his thumb to wipe away tears.

“You really think so?” Ian whispers.

Mickey nods slowly, his eyes glued to Ian’s, and it’s only then that Ian notices how close they are to each other. Mickey’s gaze is soft and warm, his thumb is brushing back and forth across Ian’s cheekbone as if he were still wiping away tears that are no longer there.

“Sometimes I just don’t feel that great,” Ian whispers.

Mickey frowns, his eyes boring into Ian’s own eyes and Ian can almost feel the crackling electric intensity of the moment.

“I don’t want you to ever think that.”

Ian’s heart swells at the words but he doesn’t have much time to focus on it before Mickey is surging forward and pressing their lips together. It’s so simple and chaste but still makes Ian feel wobbly and lightheaded. It’s better than any fantasy Ian’s had.

Mickey draws back, his eyes wide and his mouth drops open, he looks as shocked as Ian feels.

“Fuck,” Mickey breathes and drops his hand from Ian’s face. Mickey turns away, pulling his knees up and running his hands over his face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he starts a muffled chant of the word.

Ian wants to say something or do something – he so desperately wants Mickey to know that this is something he wants and that he wants so much more. Except, Ian is too shocked to speak or move. The last hour has been a complete rollercoaster, going from disappointing a small family to having Mickey, his crush and the subject of his fantasies, kissing him in an empty stairwell – something he’s been dreaming about since the first time he set eyes on Mickey. Ian thinks he might be in shock, but it’s a good shock. He feels so warm and content, all his fears and worries from earlier drifting away to the back of his mind.

Mickey stands up suddenly and Ian is shocked back to reality, flailing slightly as he stands up as well. “Wait – stop!” He calls out. Mickey turns to look at Ian, avoiding Ian’s eyes and worrying his bottom lip with his teeth – a nervous tick that Ian’s come to recognize on him.

“Just don’t go,” Ian pleads, “Please don’t go.”

“I can’t do this,” Mickey hisses, it’s a harsh tone but Ian is sure it is supposed to come off more aggressive than it does.

Ian shakes his head, carefully walking over to Mickey like he’s a scared animal, taking it as a good sign when Mickey doesn’t shy away. “Please, just…” Ian slows his words and raises his hand to brush his fingers against Mickey’s arm, focusing on the way Mickey’s skin pebbles on the surface at his touch. “Just do _this_.”

Ian takes his last step forward, they’re within a breath of each other now. Mickey’s gaze moves from Ian’s eyes to his lips and back again within quick succession.

“You can,” Ian whispers, “If you want. I want to – I need to, so badly.” Ian doesn’t move an inch as he stares down at Mickey, “Just tell me we can do this.”

Ian’s worried for a second that Mickey is going to turn and leave, but then Mickey wraps a hand behind Ian’s neck and pulls him down to his height, slotting their lips and kissing Ian deeply. It’s overwhelming and addicting. Mickey parts his lips and draws Ian closer, his tongue darting out to run along the seam of Ian’s lips until Ian grants access. Ian moans and wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist, desperate for more while at the same time never wanting this kiss to end. His knees feel weak and he’s sure he would have fallen if Mickey weren’t here to hold him up.

Nothing has ever felt this right.


	5. The Nurse Complication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka. Ian and Mickey bang a lot ¯\\_ (ツ)_/¯

**_November._ **

Mickey is so closed off that Ian thinks it might be easier to break into Area 51 than it is to talk to Mickey about his feelings. Mickey takes the meaning of ‘closed book’ to a whole new level.

The first kiss was supposed to be the start of something incredible – a moment where their undeniable and overwhelming feelings were finally addressed. Instead, it was the start of sex, lots and lots of sex. It is also incredible and undeniable, just not exactly what Ian was hoping for or expecting. It’s not fair, Ian’s been holding it together – sort of – and keeping his feelings under control, but any self-control he had died with that first kiss.

Ian can’t deny it anymore.

Honestly, without a single doubt in his mind, Ian is in love with Mickey. Hopelessly, head over heels, crazily in love.

And it’s not fair because Mickey is not.

The kiss led to some groping, groping led to clothes being torn off, and the absence of clothing had led to Ian fucking Mickey in the middle of the stairwell of the hospital (which maybe was not the wisest choice, but they’ve made worse choices since then so Ian’s calling it a win). Afterwards, Ian had pulled Mickey against him, stroking one hand over Mickey’s chest and digging the other into his hair as Ian kissed him soft and languid over and over – enjoying the ease of it and that this was something he could do now (fuck, it was all he wanted to do now).

Then Mickey was pulling away and tugging his scrubs back on. Ian stood naked, watching him a little wide-eyed, before Mickey turned to him, scratching at his hairline and said, “I don’t date.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve never dated – it’s not you, it’s just not what I do. No exceptions.”

“Oh.”

“Look, but this was fuckin’ good, Gallagher.”

“Oh?”

“So, I don’t normally do the fuck buddies thing but, maybe we could keep fuckin’ around a bit?”

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I can do that. I mean, I want to do that.”

So, Ian had been spared from feeling the complete effects of crushing defeat, but it still felt like a loss. Ian had done the fuck buddies thing before but he knew that it would kill him to detach like that with Mickey. Though the idea of having nothing with Mickey was more than Ian could bear.

Then Mickey said, “And uh, let’s just keep this between us too, yeah?”

“ _Oh._ ”

It took a total of ten seconds for Ian to realize that Micky isn’t out yet. It took another week before Ian realized how deep in the closet Mickey is.

Usually, Mickey is exactly the type of guy that Ian avoids these days. He has been a mistress and a ‘dirty little secret’ enough times to know that he will always come second to the perception and image of straightness. Ian is tired of it, he hates it and deserves way fucking better.

But Ian fucking loves Mickey, so, Ian had just said, “I can do that.”

-

**_December._ **

Mickey catches Ian’s eyes from down the hall and he’s got that _look_ – a little smirk and a cock of his eyebrow like the only thing on his mind is filthy. Fuck, that look makes Ian at least half-hard every goddamn time. For most people, Ian assumes, it might not be a problem. For Ian, he’s reading over charts in the middle of a very public hospital and wearing scrubs. Not the most ideal time for a stiffy, it’s a little awkward.

But the awkwardness never lasts wrong. When Mickey gives Ian a ‘problem’, he’s always more than happy to be the solution.

Mickey’s _look_ tends to only precede fucking by a minimum of five minutes. Mickey is impatient and impulsive by nature which Ian adores, especially now that it is one of the major contributing factors to Ian’s now incredibly active sex life.

Mickey saunters down the hall, heat in his eyes every time he glances at Ian, and Ian thinks how the hell is everyone else missing this? Maybe they are and Ian’s just too enraptured by Mickey to notice. Mickey doesn’t say a word when he reaches Ian, they both already know what he wants. Mickey simply glances down at Ian’s crotch with a filthy grin (he’s always so satisfied to know the reaction he can get out of Ian with just one fucking _look_ ) and roughly grabs the collar of Ian’s shirt. He looks around furtively and then drags Ian into the nearest closet, kicking the door shut with his foot and pulling Ian into a deep kiss.

Mickey pulls his scrubs down, just enough to pull out his dick and Ian mimics his movements. It’s fast and dirt, tugging on each other’s cocks and swallowing each other’s moans. Ian comes first, already keyed up from Mickey’s eye-fucking foreplay, but Mickey follows soon after.

Ian gently nips at Mickey’s lower lip, “You’re a fucking tease.”

“Not my fault you’re a horny bastard.”

“Oh, it’s definitely your fault.”

They both snicker and clean themselves up. Mickey gives Ian one last long kiss before flipping him off and walking back out the door.

Ian sighs happily and leans against one of the medical racks.

It’s not perfection, but it feels so fucking close.

-

_**January.** _

Ian’s on his knees with Mickey’s cock in his mouth, deepthroating him and playing with one of his ass cheeks and using his other hand to gentle scissor his fingers and stretch Mickey out. All the ministrations are making Mickey moan and grunt with pleasure. Ian releases Mickey’s cheeks and pressed his palm against his own dick to create some friction – Mickey’s so close he’s getting a letting messy and loud. Ian’s tempted to just keep at it and let Mickey come down his throat when Mickey tightly grips Ian’s hair and pulls him off.

“Get the fuck on me.”

Ian licks his lips and nods. He stands and spins Mickey around, they’re in an empty on-call room and while Ian is tempted to just slide into Mickey and fuck him against the wall, the allure of a bed is too tempting. Despite all the times they’ve fucked, it’s never been in a bed. Ian mouths at Mickey’s neck and nudges him towards the bed.

“Top or bottom?” Ian asks.

“Thought that’d be pretty clear by now, but if you want to switch things up – “

Such an ass.

Ian gently bites his neck and Mickey relents, “Top?”

They both clamber up to the top bunk and Mickey lies down on his front, spreading his legs and lifting his ass. Ian bites his lip and grins. It’s not as intimate as Ian wanted but he’ll take it, Ian still gets to drape himself over Mickey completely, skin touching from head to toe. He rolls on a condom and presses into Mickey, they groan together and Mickey gasps sharply once Ian bottoms out.

_Fuck_ , Mickey feels so good, Ian’s not sure how he considers himself alive when he’s not inside Mickey.

He tentatively starts a slow pace, moving in and out, speeding up as Mickey starts gasping again. The sounds Mickey makes are almost enough to make Ian come and it is ridiculous, considering all of Ian’s experience, that something so simple could make Ian burst in three seconds like a fucking virgin. He distracts himself by grabbing one of Mickey’s hands, pinning it to the bed and locking their fingers together. Ian bends his neck and sucks the skin between Mickey’s neck and shoulder.

Ian is so fucking in love with him.

“Gonna come,” Mickey warns with a groan.

Ian growls, _thank fucking god_. He picks up his pace, drilling into Mickey with speed and precision, hissing, “Fucking come, Mick. C’mon – do it, come for me.”

And Mickey does, burrowing his face in the pillow and moaning loudly. Ian tumbles after him, gasping and shuddering. Ian is in pure bliss, pulling out and tying off the condom when the door opens. Ian sees Mickey’s eyes widen and he’s sure he looks the same.

It’s a man, Doctor Pete French. He’s an intern with Ian, so Ian actually knows him fairly well. Pete is a nice enough guy, though he hits on most of the nurses and once told Ian it was because he had the goal of “banging one out in the on-call room, I saw it on Grey’s and it looks sweet.” So Ian doubts that Pete would judge them much, or tattle.

Still, Mickey is frozen and terrified, so Ian acts.

Pete is facing away, he’s on the phone and saying something about his student loans. Their payments are due now so Ian figures it’s something about that.

Ian rolls off of Mickey and pushes Mickey up against the wall behind him, he mutters, “Get under the sheets" and Mickey does. Mickey is plastered to Ian’s back and clinging to him tightly. Ian shuffles them both a bit further back until Mickey is also pressed against the wall. Ian, maybe stupidly, hopes the this will more or less make it look like it’s just Ian sleeping up there.

It should unless Pete looks too closely.

“This is stupid,” Pete mutters and hangs up his phone, turning around with a frown and shoving his phone in his jacket pocket. He turns and squints when he sees Ian lying in one of the top bunks. “Ian?”

Right, because instead of pretending to be asleep, Ian has just been staring at Pete like an idiot.

“Hey, Pete! How’s it going?” Ian can feel Mickey’s heart pounding.

Pete rolls his eyes, “Fucking loan collectors never give us a break – whatever, I’ll just get my parents to pay my phone and utilities this month, should be good enough.”

Ian can almost see the judging look from Mickey – agreeably this doesn’t make Pete look good, but he’s really not that bad of a guy and, in Ian’s opinion, if you’re parents are willing to help, why not take advantage of that?

“Anyways,” Pete shrugs and heads for the door but pauses when his hand is on the doorknob, “Are those your scrubs on the ground?”

Ian glances to the ground where his and Mickey’s scrubs are piled. Luckily, Mickey’s red nurse’s scrubs are mostly covered by Ian’s blue ones and boxers.

Ian nods and smiles curtly, “I like to sleep naked.”

“In the on-call room?”

“Mhmm.”

Pete looks a bit disgusted but he does finally turn away and leave the room.

Mickey relaxes his grip on Ian and shoves him away. “Motherfucker,” he hisses, “Too fuckin’ close.” Mickey crawls over Ian and jumps off the bunk, quickly pulling on his boxers and scrubs again.

Ian lays back in the bed, Pete already thinks he’s a freak so he may as well just embrace it now. “Maybe we could start doing this at my place?” Ian suggests.

Ian’s been thinking about it for a while but he’s been struggling to find the right time and way to ask. Ian loves that he gets to have even a piece of Mickey and he’s scared of anything that might push Mickey away. This is a good cover though, it’s not that Ian desperately wants Mickey to be with him at all times (it is), it’s for the privacy of a good fuck.

“Or your place?” Ian continues when he’s met with silence, “No interruptions.”

Mickey finishes pulling on his shirt and looks up at Ian. “Alright, but, uh,” Mickey bites on his lower lip and quirks an eyebrow, “Better make it worth my while, Gallagher.”

Ian grins and hops off the bunk swiftly. He grabs the waistband of Mickey’s scrubs and pulls him against Ian. The fabric of Mickey’s scrubs is soft and thin against Ian’s bare skin. Mickey scratches at Ian’s skin as Ian pushes him against the wall and licks inside his mouth.

“It’ll be worth it,” Ian murmurs huskily.

That night when Mickey is fucked out laying in Ian’s bed, breathing heavily with pupils blown wide, he says, “Never wasting our time fucking in an on-call room again.”

-

**_March._ **

Of course, the on-call room is a little too convenient and tempting to never fuck in again.

When Mickey is standing at the nurse’s desk, his brow scrunched and sucking on a lollipop, Ian doesn’t always feel like waiting until home – and luckily, neither does Mickey.

The second the door closes behind them Mickey is on Ian, tugging at the drawstrings on his scrubs and biting at his neck. Fuck, it’s amazing – Mickey is fucking amazing. Ian barely has time to enjoy it before Mickey is dropping to his knees and stretching his lips over Ian’s dick, sucking him down and digging his nails into Ian’s ass.

“Shit, fuck.” Ian gasps, eyes wide and breathing heavily. His head drops back against the closed door and his eyes drift shut. Everything about Mickey’s mouth is sinful: that dirty little smirk, how he bites his lips, and the fucking tongue when he licks his lips. Or, when he licks Ian’s lips, or his neck, or his cock. Jesus, Ian loves how Mickey’s tongue feels on his cock – the fat licks on the underside, how it swirls over the head and slit the way it is now.

Shit, Ian isn’t going to last much longer.

Just when Ian thinks he’s about to explode, getting ready to stutterer out a warning, Micky pulls off. Ian looks down in bewilderment, about to ask Mickey what the fuck is wrong when Mickey starts sloppily kissing his thigh and Ian feels a wet finger pushing past the rim of his asshole.

“Jesus.” Ian’s head drops back against the door again. Mickey mouths at Ian’s balls, taking one at a time and starts pressing his finger in and out slowly. Ian’s hand moves to grip at Mickey’s hair as he moans lowly. He can’t remember the last time someone fingered him, but, shit, he forgot how good it could feel.

Mickey prefers to bottom, something Ian discovered very quickly about him. He’s so good at it too, he knows exactly how to use all those muscles to make Ian’s vision white out and he never seems to get sore which is a fucking miracle. (Sometimes, Ian wonders how many times he’d have to fuck Mickey before he’s too fucked out and sore. Honestly, Ian kind of wants to try it sometime. They could take a weekend off, spend the whole time in bed until they wear each other out. Ian will have to tell Mickey about that sometime.)

“More,” Ian murmurs, petting at Mickey’s hair now.

Ian is a top and was very enthusiastic to hear Mickey’s preferences, but still, Ian enjoys this sometimes. The feeling of something stretching him out, pushing inside him, the way it burns at first but fades into pleasure. It’s overwhelming and too much, but sometimes, so fucking good. Especially now, with Mickey – it’s indescribable.

It’s going to be over soon. Ian’s a mess, moaning too loudly and gripping at Mickey’s hair again. He can’t help it. Mickey’s sucking on Ian’s dick like it’s candy and relentlessly massaging his prostate. It’s all so good, so fucking amazing and good.

Ian opens his eyes and looks down. Mickey is looking up at him with dark eyes, watching Ian intensely and taking in the way Ian’s unraveling. Ian shudders, the way Mickey is watching him is enough to push him over the edge. He groans and comes down Mickey’s throat, staring into his eyes the whole time.

Mickey licks his lips once he pulls off and draws his fingers out. He leans up and nibbles at Ian’s hipbone playfully. “I wanna fuck you some time,” Mickey says lowly, glancing up at Ian with hooded eyes.

Ian grabs Mickey, lifting him off the ground and flipping around, pinning Mickey up against the door. He shoves his hand in Mickey’s scrubs and wraps it around Mickey’s cock, it’s hard and leaking precome. Ian wastes no time and beginnings pumping it quickly, cutting off whatever Mickey was about to say. Instead, Mickey takes a shaky breath and his eyelids flutter. Ian leans down to nose at the column of Mickey’s neck, breathing him in. There’s just something about the way Mickey smells that Ian can’t get enough of.

Ian licks a line up Mickey’s neck and whispers, “It’s all I’m going to be able to think about for the rest of the day.”

Mickey grunts, “That so?”

Ian nods, “Your fingers stretching me out for hours, making me fucking beg for it before you finally fuck me.” Ian sucks on Mickey’s earlobe and moans lowly, “It’d be so tight too, Mick, every inch of you pressing against me so fucking good.”

“Oh fuck,” Mickey whines and presses closer to Ian, bucking his hips. He’s starting to lose it and Ian picks up the pace, twisting his wrist and running his thumb over the head of Mickey’s dick. Ian leans his head slightly back to watch Mickey’s face, his lips are parted and eyes still shit. Ian bites his lower lips and grins at Mickey’s sharp gasp.

“Fucking me so hard until the only thing I can say is your name, screaming it over and over.” Ian continues.

Mickey gasps and nods, kissing Ian sloppily, “Yeah, fuck, wanna own you.”

Ian’s heart stutters at the words, he pushes back into the kiss, messy and dirty in a perfect way. He tries to remind himself that it’s just dirty talk, just something that gets Mickey hot but… _fuck_.

“Anything you want,” Ian whispers between kisses, and he means it. “Fuck, you can have me.”

Then Mickey’s gasping and shuddering as he coats Ian’s hand in his come.

Mickey drops his head to Ian’s shoulder, holding onto his arms and breathing heavily. Ian lets him rest there for a moment, Ian’s feeling too shaky and caught up in the intensity to want to move either. Mickey shifts his head, pressing a line of kisses along Ian’s collarbone before he pulls away. Ian steps back and turns around, grabbing some tissues from a small table near one of the beds to clean the sticky mess off his hands.

Ian’s used to the work fucks at this point. Mickey is generally a little more intimate at home, but at work, he’ll fix his scrubs and leave fairly quickly – head back to the floor and spend the rest of the day acting like he didn’t just have Ian’s dick in his mouth.

This time, Ian is surprised when he feels Mickey pressed up against his back and gripping his hips tightly.

Ian looks over his shoulder and cocks an eyebrow, “Ready to go again already?”

Mickey grins, “Nah, just wanted to make sure you were coming over tonight.”

“Oh, and why’s that?”

Mickey raises on his toes to put his lips against Ian’s ear, and whispers, “Because I’m definitely fucking you tonight.”

Ian shivers as Mickey steps away, he turns and watches as Mickey struts out of the room wearing the same filthy grin he came in with. Shit, Ian is so horribly in love with him.

-

Mickey laughs breathily as he rolls off of Ian and drops onto the other side of the bed heavily. “Man, that was good,” he says.

Ian raises his arms, stretching and dropping them over top of his head. He’s breathing heavily and he’s sure he looks completely wrecked but he doesn’t care. After half a day of anticipation, the payoff of Mickey fucking him into the mattress was leaving Ian a ridiculously happy but breathless mess. It helps that every time Ian looks over at Mickey, he can see how happy and relaxed Mickey is. Honestly, even if the sex were bad the look on Mickey’s face afterward would be more than enough for Ian – not that the sex with Mickey could ever possibly be bad.

Mickey lights a cigarette and takes a leisurely drag before offering it to Ian.

“You alright there, Gallagher?”

Ian nods happily as he sucks on the filter. He gestures to his sprawled out and relaxed position and says, “Afterglow.”

Mickey huffs and laughs, snatching back the cigarette. He doesn’t say a word but he’s still smiling as he rests his head back and closes his eyes. Ian can’t take his eyes off of Mickey, he looks so stunning that Ian can’t be sure that he’s even a real person. So fucking perfect and gorgeous.

“This is why you’re the top – I don’t need fucking hours of _afterglow_ ,” Mickey explains cockily, “Or maybe I’m just better at it than you.”

Ian rolls on his side and glares, “Oh, I know I’m better than you.”

“I dunno, Gallagher, are you not giving it your best then?”

Ian huffs at the teasing, “Guess you’ll just have to wait for round two to find out.”

Mickey bites down on his lower lip, “Looking forward to it.”

A comfortable silence falls over them as they lay in bed together. Ian reaches out a hand to brush Mickey’s arm, Mickey doesn’t stop him but he opens his eyes to watch the movement. Ian beings idly drawing invisible lines with the pads of his fingers over Mickey’s bare arm and chest. A simple and sweet moment like this tends to happen more often since Ian’s picked up the habit. He’s not sure where it came from, he’s never felt compelled with anyone else, but he thinks it might be because he always wants to be touching Mickey.

“Why did you want to become a nurse?” Ian asks.

“Cheap schooling and a good payout,” Mickey answers quickly, as he has it rehearsed and prepared.

Ian smiles fondly and shakes his head, “I mean, for real.”

Mickey lets out a long breath through his nose, shifting his eyes to the ceiling and then back to Ian before finally answering. “My Pop’s not the greatest guy. I got a lot of scars when I was a kid – so did my brothers and my sister. Wasn’t much we could do about it, just the way it was.” Mickey places a hand on his chest, tapping his fingers in a steady pattern. “I got good with fixing cuts up, stitches and bandages and shit, so I just started doing it for everybody. I dunno, just Dad would try to fuck them up but then I could fix them and it felt good.”

Ian tentatively puts his hand over Mickey’s gently rubbing his thumb over the back of his hand. “So, you like helping people?”

Mickey is quiet for another long moment, Ian can see the gears working in Mickey’s mind as he tries to put together to proper words for how he feels.

“Sometimes people think they’re too broken to fix, I like that I can help put them back together, show them that they’re – I dunno, strong.”

It’s not eloquent or poetic, but it’s one of the most profound and beautiful things Ian’s ever heard.

“I like that,” Ian says. “I think every medical professional should feel that way.” Mickey sniffs and shrugs as though it isn’t a big deal, but Ian sees the faint blush rising on his cheeks.

“So, why’d you become a doctor then?” Mickey asks, staring down at their joined hands.

Ian laughs lightly and shuffles in closer to Mickey’s side. “My brother, Lip, calls it a hero complex but I think I just like helping people – helping the world.”

Mickey snorts, “Alright then, Mother Theresa.”

Ian laughs and rolls on top of Mickey, effectively pinning him down. “And here I thought we were having a sweet moment.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Cause I thought we were just wasting time ‘til you could get your dick up again.” Mickey lifts his head and nips at Ian’s lower lip. “You’ve still gotta prove me wrong.”

Ian laughs loudly and draws Mickey into a deep kiss.

Hours later, when Mickey is fast asleep and curled up in Ian’s arms (the result of Ian proving his sexual prowess), Ian finds himself wide awake and running his hands over Mickey’s body. Ian traces scars he finds that Mickey’s never talked about and feels stinging pain each time. Ian wonders exactly how many of them Mickey had to fix by himself, how many were caused by his father, and if Mickey ever felt like he was broken beyond repair.

Ian already knows the answers, and he hates them.

Ian holds Mickey tightly against his body as he begins to drift off to sleep as well, promising to never let Mickey feel broken again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When this chapter was originally posted it was 2419 words, now it's 4099... enjoy the new content!


	6. The (Mild) Plague Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian rounds the corner and comes to a halt when he finds that Mickey is nowhere to be seen. Ian glances behind him, down the hall, and back to the nurse’s station – nothing. He walks over to the nurse’s station and peeks over the counter, finding no signs of Mickey anywhere. No crummy orange coffee mug with cracks and stains half filled with cream and too many sugar cubes, no candy wrappers in the garbage can, and no candy stashed off to the side behind one of the computer monitors.
> 
> “He’s not here today, Loverboy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is arguably my favourite chapter in this whole fic, so enjoy!

_**May.** _

Ian drops his backpack in his locker and rubs at his tired eyes as he prepares for another night shift at the hospital. It’s been a few weeks since his internship officially ended, and he was offered a residency. While Ian is thrilled to now be in his residency, and at the same hospital, it does, unfortunately, mean that he is mostly stuck with the grunt shifts – the ones that nobody wants. There’s a bit of a trade-off between the first-year residents, alternating between day and night shifts through the weeks, but for the most part, Ian just has to deal with the shitty shifts for now.

Ian suspects most people would hate it, but he doesn’t mind.

It doesn’t hurt that Mickey organized his own shifts so that their schedules are more or less the same, even if it means that Mickey will be up all hours of the night or start at the crack of dawn. Ian had thanked Mickey for it, cooed and called him sweet, only to be punched in the arm and told the only reason Mickey moved his shifts was because working with Ian meant he could get a hummer during his shift. Ian has to admit that sex is a truly incredible bonus to working together, but he still can’t help feeling like it is more than that.

Ian fixes his scrubs and shuts his locker, just shy of skipping and humming as he makes his way down the hall to the nurse’s station. Ian rounds the corner and comes to a halt when he finds that Mickey is nowhere to be seen. Ian glances behind him, down the hall, and back to the nurse’s station – nothing. He walks over to the nurse’s station and peeks over the counter, finding no signs of Mickey anywhere. No crummy orange coffee mug with cracks and stains half filled with cream and too many sugar cubes, no candy wrappers in the garbage can, and no candy stashed off to the side behind one of the computer monitors.

“He’s not here today, Loverboy.”

Ian’s head snaps up at the sound of Dana’s smooth voice coming from the opposite side of the half-moon shaped counters.

Ian blinks and clears his throat, trying to appear casual, “Who’s not? Sarah?”

Dana rolls her eyes and sighs loudly, “And how exactly is Sarah a ‘he’? If you’re still going to be trying to pull this bullshit, at least learn how to lie better.”

Ian winces. Sarah, the tall, blonde and voluptuous nurse was perhaps not the best choice to go with. In his defense, Ian had answered mostly on instinct and Mickey was the only male nurse of the floor.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ian answers with a shrug. Dana stares him down with a withering, judgemental gaze – straight face, eyebrow cocked high and one hand on her hip. Ian smiles tightly, clapping his hands together and rocking on the balls of his feet. He hates the idea of Dana prying into whatever sliver of a relationship he’s been able to build with Mickey, _but_ he’s also curious as to how he missed that Mickey isn’t working today.

Ian, being the lovestruck morn that he is, has had Mickey’s schedule memorized since it was posted.

“So, Mickey’s not here today, huh?”

Dana cracks a smile and laughs, probably at how easily Ian’s resolve crumbled. “No, he’s not here today. He was yesterday but the poor boy is coming down with some type of nasty cold. I told him to stay home today.”

Ian frowns but nods, he knows Dana said it was a cold but Ian can’t help but wonder if it might be worse – or even if it is just a nasty cold, what if Mickey is just miserable and alone at home? He’s paranoid, of course, but he also doesn’t like that Mickey didn’t text and mention it to him. Fuck, Ian’s so co-dependent it’s pathetic.

“That’s too bad,” Ian says calmly, hoping that he might still get out of the conversation with some sense of dignity. “Think he’ll be back tomorrow?”

Dana shakes her head, she’s not looking at Ian anymore, she’s started to organize the files on the desk and make space to start working on some paperwork. “Probably not, he was looking pretty pale.”

So, it’s not just a cold – maybe just the flu? But the can still fucking kill you. Ian’s spiraling, he fidgets and hums, pursing his lips and digging his nails into his palms. He’s a little worried. He knows that Mickey probably isn’t dying, or suffering from anything deadly, but the logic doesn’t seem to be making Ian feel better about it. Even if Mickey isn’t facing death, even the idea of Mickey shivering and suffering alone in his apartment makes Ian’s heartache.

“He gonna be okay?” Ian asks quietly, Dana looks up and their eyes meet, she softens a bit at his concern.

Dana attaches a folder to a clipboard and stands up, stepping around the counter. She rests a hand on Ian’s arm and says, “He’s tough, he’ll be fine. Try not to worry so much.” She steps away and makes her way down the hallway, holding the clipboard to her chest. After a few steps, she stops and turns back to Ian with a mischievous smirk, “You know, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if someone went to check on him though.”

Dana winks and continues on her way, leaving Ian smiling and feeling the slightest bit comforted.

-

Mickey looks like hell when he opens his door. His hair is greasy, half plastered to his head and the other half sticking up all over the place. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, and his nose is red, sore and dry with a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses perched there. Mickey’s wearing a thin white tank top and an old pair of sweatpants that are so thin in some spots their practically translucent, with a fluffy duvet draped over his shoulders and giant slippers on his feet.

Ian almost wants to laugh at how comically sick and pathetic Mickey looks, but he gets the feeling that it wouldn’t be well received.

Mickey scans Ian blearily, one hand still gripping the doorway, and says, “Fuck off.” The door is then promptly slammed in Ian’s face.

Ian groans and knocks again, leaning against the door-frame. “C’mon, Mickey, I brought you soup.”

“Fuck off, Gallagher.” He hears Mickey’s hoarse voice from behind the closed door.

“It’s chicken noodle.”

“No one gives a shit.”

“Who can say no to chicken noodle soup when they’re sick?” Ian asks, smiling at the door and Mickey’s endearingly petulant attitude.

“I can fuck you.”

“What if I told you it’s homemade?”

There’s a brief silence from inside before Ian hears the shuffling of giant slipper-ed feet coming closer to the door. “Homemade by who?” Mickey’s voice is distinctly clearer and closer – Ian knows that he’s got him now.

“Debbie might have fixed it up for me while I was at work.”

The door swings open and Mickey is standing in front of him once again, looking just as dreary and pathetic as before but maybe slightly perkier as he eyes the large plastic container Ian is holding.

“Not just for me though, right” Mickey prods carefully.

“Nah, she was taking lunch suggestions, but I might have pushed a bit more for this one.” It’s an answer that Mickey will accept, but it’s a lie. Sure, Debbie did make enough for everyone to have lunch, but she wasn’t planning on making anything before Ian had harassed her by texting her through his entire nightshift to make it until she relented.

Mickey chews on his lip, debating what he wants to do.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses, look cute,” Ian says, interrupting the silence and receiving a glare from Mickey.

“I’m not fuckin’ cute,” Mickey grumbles but still hesitantly steps back from where he’s blocking the doorway, finally allowing Ian to step inside. Mickey snatches the container from Ian’s hands as soon as the door is shut, causing the duvet to tumble off his shoulders and onto the ground. Mickey looks down at the crumpled heap and groans. Ian chuckles, picking the duvet up and draping it back over Mickey’s shoulder. Ian places his hands on Mickey’s shoulders and gently steers him to the couch.

“I can walk on my own,” Mickey grumbles defiantly but makes no move to resist.

Ian settles Mickey on the couch, draping a throw blanket from the back of the couch over Mickey’s legs and body. “Is that okay? Too warm? Not warm enough?”

Mickey leans back, sinking into the couch, still clinging to the container of soup and holding it close to his chest and closes his eyes. “S’fine, Gallagher. Perfect fuckin’ temperature.”

“Did you take something?” Ian asks as he shed his jackets and wanders into the kitchen.

“Jesus Christ, I’m a fuckin’ nurse, I know when to take medicine.”

“So, did you?” Ian prods, returning from the kitchen with a spoon in hand.

Mickey huffs and glares, “Yes, ten minutes ago.”

Ian smiles as he drops onto the beside Mickey. He carefully pries the container of soup from Mickey’s hands, popping the lid off easily and stirring the contents.

“You gonna feed it to me too,” Mickey teases and coughs loudly, it’s gravelly and sounds painful. He squishes his face and swallows once he’s done. He looks back at Ian and glares, “Stop giving these sad fuckin’ puppy eyes, I’m not dying.”

Ian rolls his eyes at that and looks away, he knows Mickey isn’t dying (especially now that Mickey is actually in front of him) but that doesn’t help. He still doesn’t like how miserable Mickey is. Ian wishes he could make it all better because he wants to make everything better for Mickey. Ian wants to make Mickey smile and laugh and feeling fucking amazing every single second of every single day. This day, with Mickey sick and miserable, is the exact opposite of how Ian wants Mickey to feel.

Even if whatever bug Mickey’s caught is curable or temporary, Ian hates it.

“Here,” Ian holds out the container to Mickey.

Mickey’s glare softens as he greedily grabs the soup, carefully sipping at hot spoonful’s and sighing contently. Ian smiles softly at the scene, feeling the slightest bit better that the soup seems to be helping. Mickey glares at Ian sharply again when he notices the blatant ogling and murmurs, “M’serious, quit it.”

Ian blushes at being caught and turns away quickly. It proves somewhat difficult for Ian to avoid staring like an idiot at Mickey though, so he jumps up from the couch and wanders over to Mickey’s tv stand where he has a few piles of DVDs and video games. Ian crouches down, reading some of the titles.

“What’s your comfort movie?” Ian asks, chancing a glance back at Mickey. He’s still huddled up, eating soup, glasses fogging a bit from the steam of the soup. He really does look fucking adorable, especially with the glasses. Ian’s actually starting to wonder if he’s developing a kink for Mickey in glasses – maybe it’s a sexy librarian thing.

Mickey snorts, then winces and rubs at his throat. “The fuck is a comfort movie?”

“Like a comfort blanket,” Ian says with a shrug, “You know, like a movie you watch when you feel like shit just because you like it – make you feel better.”

Mickey pauses and stares at Ian for a long moment before returning to his soup. “Sounds like a dumb chick thing.”

Ian sighs and turns back to the DVDs. “Yeah, because wanting to feel better is exclusively for girls,” He mutters, reading over the titles once again. He stops at one title on a worn DVD case and grins. He quickly pops the disc in and turns on the TV, dropping back onto the couch beside Mickey.

“Found it,” Ian teases with a smirk.

Mickey slurps loudly as he tips the container to drink the last bits of soup. He licks his lips and wipes them with the back of his hand in a classically gross, but hot because it’s Mickey, move. He drops the container onto the floor and looks over at Ian.

“Found what?”

“Comfort movie.”

Mickey huffs and sniffs as he pulls the duvet on his shoulders tighter around his body. “I already told you I don’t have one, so you actually just found shit.”

“Maybe you just don’t know you have one.”

The screen lights up with the title menu for the first Rocky movie and Ian sneaks a glance at Mickey’s reaction. He catches a small smile on Mickey’s lips before Mickey notices and forces his face straight one again.

“Alright, so I fuckin’ like this movie, doesn’t mean it’s a comfort movie,” Mickey says, a harsh cough following causing him to lean forward and duck his head.

Ian’s smile drops as he watches Mickey struggle with his cough and reaches over to rub his hand up and down Mickey’s back soothingly, the same way Fiona used to do for him when he was little. Fuck, he really hates seeing Mickey like this.

Mickey doesn’t shove Ian’s hand off once he’s finished coughing, just stays leaned forward so Ian can continue the gentle movements. Ian reaches for the remote with his free hand and presses play, the screen turns black as the movie starts up.

“Hey, Mickey, lay down,” Ian whispers, gently tugging at Mickey’s arm until he flops onto his side, resting his head in Ian’s lap without any resistance. Ian takes off Mickey’s glasses, placing them on the side table. He pulls at the duvet and blanket covering Mickey, making sure every inch of Mickey’s shaking body is covered, tucking him in and continuing to rub his back gently with one hand and brushing through his hair with the other. “How you feeling?”

Mickey hums and shakes his head, “Like shit.”

Ian leans down and kisses Mickey’s thickly covered shoulder, resting his chin there, “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck off, you didn’t do anything.” His words sound soft in his drowsy voice.

“I know,” Ian whispers, brushing a loose hair away from Mickey’s eyes. He takes a moment to admire Mickey. His eyes are closed despite the movie blaring in the background and his lips are parted, sounding wheezy as he breathes in and out. He’s stopped shivering now, happily relaxing against Ian and into his touch. Even when Mickey’s disgusting, he’s gorgeous, and Ian’s so desperately in love with him.

Ian shifts Mickey and lifts the duvet enough to stick his arm under, he starts to knead at Mickey’s back, rubbing at bundles of tense muscles until they start to loosen. Mickey softly whispers, “Keep doing that,” and Ian happily obliges. Ian’s sure he would happily do anything Mickey told him to. Mickey moans and sighs once Ian reaches his shoulder blades (and fuck, does he sound sexy, but Ian reminds himself that’s not what he’s here for).

“You sure you’re a doctor and not a fuckin’ masseuse. Jesus. Why the fuck haven’t you done this before?” Mickey groans, his eyelids fluttering and he hums as Ian pushes his hands against Mickey’s skin, spreading his fingers and bring them back together.

Ian chuckles, “Maybe I will now. Definitely not a masseuse, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that being sick isn’t great for muscle tension. Feels good?”

Mickey nods, rubbing his nose against Ian’s jeans, “Amazing. Fuck.”

Ian feels a surge of pride knowing that even though Mickey is sickly and ailing, Ian can still make him feel good. Maybe it’s a weird thing to be proud about, but Ian just is. He smiles to himself and continues rubbing his hands over all Mickey’s back, neck, and down his arms as the movie plays. By about half an hour into the movie, Mickey dozes off and Ian stops his idle massage. The medicine Mickey took must have had a drowsy side effect because Mickey is conked out. The movie is bright and loud, but Mickey seems to be completely unaffected, taking in and out short wheezy breathes as he drools on Ian’s jeans. Ian lets his hand drop to cradle Mickey’s head, brushing his thumb across Mickey’s cheek and smiling at him.

It might be creepy that Ian is starting at Mickey, completely oblivious to whatever is happening in the movie (though he’s seen Rocky a few ties so it’s not hard to guess), but Ian doesn’t care. He feels like he could sit there all afternoon and all-night watching Mickey – the way one stubborn group of hairs keep falling over his eyes, or how he squishes his nose before he turns his head or moves his arm. Ian loves that he can be here for Mickey, keep him comfortable and content and warm. God, just doing fucking anything for Mickey – doing everything for him.

It blows Ian’s mind sometimes how much he cares about Mickey. Ian’s never considered himself to be the type to fall in love so easily, it’s never happened to him before, and certainly not in this almost instant and totally lovestruck way it has with Mickey Though maybe he’s just always thought he wasn’t the type to fall in love because he’d never met someone worth falling for. Not until Mickey.

Ian wonders if Mickey feels the same way, he thinks about it a lot. If maybe he makes Mickey just as crazy as Mickey makes him. It doesn’t seem possible, with all the hiding and restrictions that Mickey puts on their ‘relationship’ – anything outside of friendship is strictly barred from anyone else’s eyes or knowledge. But then, Mickey lets Ian be around him when he’s like this. Mickey doesn’t depend on anyone, he doesn’t want to and doesn’t like to. Ian get is because he’s the same way. Ian hates thinking that he can’t just fucking handle things on his own, but sometimes he can’t and that’s a reality he’s had to embrace over the past few years. Ian gets how hard it is to depend on someone else, so, when Mickey asks Ian for a favour or lets Ian take care of him when he’s sick, Ian knows how much that means.

It’s trust. Irrefutable and absolute trust.

Fiona always used to say that trust meant more than love. Something about how love was a kneejerk reaction but trust had to be earned. Ian likes that he’s at a point with Mickey where he’s earned that trust, though he still hopes that maybe Mickey’s gotten that ‘kneejerk reaction’ as well.

Ian watches the final ten minutes of the movie (because fuck, it’s Rocky and how can you not?) and then the credits roll. Mickey is still curled up on Ian’s lap and fast asleep. Ian grabs the remote and turns off the TV. It’s late in the afternoon and Ian is starting to feel the effects of only taking a short nap after his night shift. He’s off for the rest of the day but his next shift is early in the morning and he’s unfortunately aware that he needs to go home and get some rest.

Ian carefully moves out from under Mickey, getting himself free and standing up before he cradles Mickey in his arms and lifts him from the couch, carrying him through to his bedroom. Ian walks slowly, trying not to jostle Mickey from his sleep as he walks. Ian kicks open Mickey’s bedroom door quietly and shuffles to Mickey’s bed, carefully avoiding piles of junk and clothing on the floor (Mickey’s not exactly a tidy person). Ian deposits Mickey onto his mattress then covers him in blankets and quilts, tucking him in tightly as he did on the couch. Ian smiles fondly at Mickey, brushing a hand through his hair one last time and kissing his temple before stepping away.

“Where’re you goin’?”

Ian turns back to look at Mickey, wrapped in blankets and frowning tiredly at Ian

“Wanted to let you get some sleep,” Ian answers, walking back over to Mickey and sitting on the edge of the mattress. “You looked like you could use it.”

Mickey hums and nods, nostrils flaring as he breathes out deeply, “Nah, fuck that. Come ‘ere.” Mickey reaches out and grabs onto Ian’s arm, pulling him to lay down next to Mickey. Ian laughs softly and debates for a moment before pulling off his jeans and following the pull of Mickey’s grasp, lying down beside him.

Ian drapes an arm over Mickey, nuzzling into his shoulder and smiling. “Was I just invited to a sleepover?” He teases, kissing Mickey’s shoulder. “A ‘no sex’ sleepover?”

“Fuck you,” Mickey grumbles drowsily, rolling in closer to Ian and closing his eyes once again. “It’s just so we can fuck when I wake up.”

Ian feels Mickey shaking and shivering against him and wraps himself around Mickey as completely as possible, holding him tightly and willing whatever body heat he has to go to Mickey.

“Just a sleepover of convenience than, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s all,” Mickey says and yawns, he’s drifting off once again and his mind is going foggy. “Now shut up and put your pretty little ginger head to sleep.”

Ian smiles and almost laughs but keeps it to himself so as not to disturb Mickey as he dozes off once again. Ian kisses Mickey’s neck chastely before burying his face there and closing his eyes.


	7. The Bad-Mannered Plight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian can see a whole future with Mickey like this and he craves it. He wants a lame and cheesy domesticity with Mickey so fucking badly.
> 
> And this feels like it is just one more step on the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote the sex scene in this chapter and it's the smuttiest thing I've ever written... so enjoy!

_**July.** _

“Would you stop?” Ian snaps, glaring over his shoulder at Mickey as he walks, barely managing to keep the stern look as Mickey grins at him slyly.

“Not sure what you’re talking about, Gallagher,” Mickey says smoothly, keeping in perfect step behind Ian.

Ian rolls his eyes and turns away to hide the way his lips are quirking up. “Asshole.”

Ian focuses on walking again, he can see his building now so it is thankfully not much further to go – his arms are fucking aching. Ian makes a mental note to remember how physically terrible this is for the next time he needs to go for a large haul grocery shopping. Ian had decided to enlist Mickey’s help when he realized that he needs to stock up on all his non-perishable food (squirreling away perishables was a habit he had picked up from being young and destitute – hoard while you can). Mickey had reluctantly agreed and it had been a successful trip, but that meant the number of bags Ian and Mickey were now hauling was extreme.

Ian vaguely remembers the first time he shopped like this after moving out on his own, he’d invited half of his siblings to help. His fingers feel like they’re about to fall off now, making him nostalgic for the help – it would have been a good idea. He was going to ask at least Fiona, Carl, and Liam, but then he’d jokingly asked Mickey to come with him and Mickey had said yes. As much as the extra hands would have been useful, there was also no way Ian was going to sacrifice alone time with Mickey, so he had just left it.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty though and Ian won’t be making the mistake again – for the good of his extremities.

Ian takes a few more steps before he once again feels a bag hitting his ass.

“Seriously?” Ian spins around, keeping his pace and walking backward.

Mickey shrugs innocently, “Seriously, what?”

Ian shakes his head and laughs, Mickey’s hard to stay mad at when he’s in a cheeky mood like this. Or ever. Mickey has a way about him that Ian can’t help but be charmed by. It’s the Mickey Milkovich effect and it’s impossible to overcome.

Ian spends the rest of the walk trying to ignore how impatient and annoying Mickey is getting. Mickey doesn’t let up on his gentle harassment until they reach Ian’s apartment and Mickey drops the bags immediately, jumping up to sit on the counter and silently watching as Ian slowly unpacks and puts everything away. Mickey pulls out a pack of cigarettes from a nearby bag, opening it up, taking one and lighting up. Ian rolls his eyes and resists the urge of telling Mickey to get his own smokes. Honestly, probably because Ian’s enjoyed the trip with Mickey. As impetuous as Mickey has been, the whole thing feels so domestic. Grocery shopping, teasing each other on the way home, putting away food together (or, at least Mickey’s still in the same room). Ian can see a whole future with Mickey like this and he craves it. He wants a lame and cheesy domesticity with Mickey so fucking badly.

And this feels like it is just one more step on the way.

Mickey’s been staying over almost every night now, he’s even got a bag of necessities so that he doesn’t have to go home before his shifts. They’re almost there – Ian’s so close to having Mickey, really having him, that he feels like he’s vibrating with need.

But Ian’s being gentle and slow, letting Mickey take the lead.

It’s just difficult to resist the temptation sometimes.

Mickey gets impatient with waiting for Ian to finishing unpacking eventually and sticks out a leg to hook it around Ian’s waist and drag him over. He pulls Ian in and wraps his other leg just under Ian’s hip and the back of his leg. Mickey brushes his hands down Ian’s arms and to his own hands, guiding them to Mickey’s waist.

“I still have shit to unpack,” Ian murmurs half-heartedly, a feat in itself when he’s being met with Mickey’s hungry eyes.

Mickey hums and licks his lips, “It can wait.” He tightens his legs around Ian and grinds their crotches together. Ian groans as Mickey leans down and licks at Ian’s collar bone, clutching at Mickey’s hips tightly and pulling him closer, even as he says, “It’s a mess in here-“

“Don’t care.”

“I have a bed.”

Ian gasps as Mickey sucks at the base of his neck and starts to unbuckle his belt, his weak protests fading away as Mickey licks his way up Ian’s neck, tugging on an earlobe with his teeth, it’s enough to make Ian’s knees weak.

“Want you here,” Mickey murmurs, finally kissing Ian on the lips, wet and slow, licking into his mouth. “Want you to fuck me on the counter.”

Ian groans lowly and any small amount of resistance he has left fades away with Mickey’s words. Fuck, there’s nothing he wants more in this instance than that either. “Yeah, fuck, yeah. Anything you want,” Ian says wiping off Mickey’s shirt and then his own as quickly as possible before wrapping around his neck and pulling him in for another kiss.

“Anything?” Mickey teases breathily between kisses.

Ian doesn’t even try to defend himself, he just says, “Always, anything.” He pushes down his jeans and boxers before dragging Mickey’s sweats down as well.

Mickey lets out a low soft groan, “Can’t just say shit like that.”

Ian pauses to rest his forehead against Mickey’s even as he drags Mickey's naked body against his, cocks grinding together and making both men gasp. “That you can do anything you want to me – have anything you want from me? You can.”

“Gallagher,” Mickey murmurs, it’s probably supposed to be a warning, but it comes out too soft and Mickey doesn’t say anything else.

Ian reaches into a nearby bag, grabbing a small bottle of lube and a box of condoms, he sets them next to Mickey but is distracted by Mickey’s hands and hot flesh against. Mickey licks into his mouth, hands tracing every inch of Ian’s body. Ian grabs both of their cocks in his hands, stroking up and down together. God, Ian loves how it feels when he’s covered head-to-toe by Micky, completely wrapped up and enveloped by him, it’s like nothing else in the world. He’s never felt as warm and content as he does in moments like these.

Mickey scratches at the back of Ian’s neck and gives him one more long, lingering kiss before pushing Ian back and saying, “Get on me.”

Ian doesn’t waste any time, popping the cap of the lube and spreading it over fingers, warming it up before he slowly pushes his middle finger into Mickey. Mickey hums and almost immediately says, “More.” Ian obliges, pushing in his index finger, curling and massaging, scissoring them and stretching him out. Ian mouths at Mickey’s shoulder as Mickey tilts his head back, breathing heavily through his parted lips.

“More,” Mickey whispers.

Normally, Mickey would be telling Ian to fuck him at this point. Ian’s fascinated by the change, he pushes Mickey down to lay back on the counter, giving Ian better access and he slips in a third finger. Mickey keens as Ian twists his hand, spreading his finger and bring them back together. He grabs Mickey’s aching cock and brushes his thumb over the slit. Mickey makes to reach down to Ian but seems to decide against, instead he grabs onto the edge of the counter.

Ian watches, entranced as his fingers slide in and out of Mickey, loosening him up. He teases his pinky, brushing against the rim.

“Can I?”

Mickey nods eagerly and Ian pushes in his pinky, letting out a pleased groan at the sight. “Oh fuck, Mickey. Fuck, this is – “ He starts his ministrations again and watches as Mickey’s eyes practically roll back in his head. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the counter and his toes are curled. Fuck, he’s close. Ian’s completely enraptured and keeps going, torn between making him come now or pulling out and fucking him.

“Ian, please – “ Mickey’s cut off words make up Ian’s mind. He leans down, licking the slit of Mickey’s cock and sucking at the tip, and that’s all it takes. Mickey gasps and bows his back, coming in Ian’s mouth before collapsing against the counter again.

Ian feels like he’s on fire, burning from the inside out, after watching that. He slowly pulls his fingers out from Mickey, starts pulling desperately on his own cock, staring lewdly at Mickey’s naked exhausted body. Fuck, he can’t help himself, brushing a hand up Mickey’s leg and over his red, puckered hole.

Mickey lifts his head and squints at Ian, “Stop.”

Ian turns his gaze to Mickey’s face and pulls his hand back, “Mick – “

“No,” Mickey says, he pulls himself up and grabs Ian’s hand away from his cock, weakly pulling him back up against Mickey.

“I can’t just – after that Mickey, I gotta – “

“Want you to fuck me.” Mickey bites Ian’s lower lip and tugs on it gently.

Ian feels so hazy and horny, fuck, he wants it. “But you – “

“Anything I want,” Mickey whispers, gripping Ian’s cock and guiding the tip to his entrance. “You said, I could have anything I want from you.”

Ian nods helpless, “I don’t know if I can be gentle.”

“Don’t want gentle – want you and I want it hard.”

Ian slams in and Mickey clings to Ian, digging his nails in and moaning loudly. Ian growls, he feels animalistic and desperate. Ian’s so fucking amped up and turned on, the day of domestic bliss, watching Mickey fall apart under his hands and now asking for him – asking for Ian. Ian wraps Mickey’s legs around his waist and puts his hands under Mickey’s ass. He lifts Mickey and turns them around, slamming Mickey against the nearby wall and continuing to hold him up as he fucks into him.

Ian’s so desperate and hard, he feels like he’s close to coming but then he feels Mickey hardening again and wills himself to hold on.

“Holy shit,” Ian hisses and kisses Mickey hard, “You’re so fucking sexy, holy shit.”

There’s no rhythm, Ian is pulsing and needy, thrusting up into Mickey over and over with everything he can. Mickey’s clinging to him and bouncing on his cock and against the wall. His eyes are glassy and he’s nodding, he looks dazed and messy, overwhelmed and moaning without abandon throughout Ian’s onslaught.

“I’m so lucky, holy fuck, you’re incredible.” Ian can’t help himself, he knows he’s going to say something stupid soon – something he can’t take back but he can’t stop himself. “You’re amazing, so perfect – I can’t believe that I get to have you.”

“Ian – “ Mickey whines and scratches through Ian’s hair, gripping him tightly. Mickey presses his lips against Ian’s gently – it feels too sweet for what they're doing.

“I love you,” Mickey says softly, almost too quiet for Ian to hear but he does.

Ian stutters for just a second, but then Mickey is kissing him again and urging him on. Ian pushes in only a few more times before Mickey cries out and comes again, Ian only a moment later as Mickey’s muscle convulse around him.

Ian awkwardly stumbles to the ground, pulling out his softening cock but keeping Mickey in his lap and wrapping his arms around him. Mickey is boneless, draped over Ian and breathing heavily. Ian feels light, even with Mickey’s weight holding him down. Apart from being the most mind-blowingly incredible fuck of his life, Mickey had said it.

Mickey had plainly and sweetly said ‘I love you’.

Ian feels tears in his eyes even though he can’t seem to stop smiling. He hides his face in Mickey’s neck and kisses him gently there. He thinks that he should say it back, say something, but Ian can’t think properly and Mickey still hasn’t moved.

Ian maneuvers Mickey against him, still holding him close and resting his head against his shoulder, but now able to see his face. He still looks a little glassy-eyed and fucked out. It’s the most beautiful sight Ian’s ever seen. Ian strokes Mickey’s cheek with the back of his hand.

“I didn’t know you could do any of that.”

“Never have before,” Mickey answers, his words a little slurred, he smiles dazedly up at Ian. “Fuckin’ incredible.”

Ian grins, “Yeah.” He strokes a hand up and down Mickey’s back and watches as Mickey’s eyes flutter closed. Ian really is so unbelievably lucky to have found Mickey, in every single way.

Ian kisses Mickey’s forehead and whispers, “I love you too, you know. So much.”

Mickey stays rested against Ian for a moment longer and then pries away, standing slowly and grabbing his sweatpants from the ground near the counter they had started on.

Ian laughs and watches Mickey happily, then frowns as he sees him grabbing the rest of his discarded clothing as well. “You know, I’m just going to have to take that all off again later.”

Mickey sniffs and shrugs, “Nah, I gotta go.”

“Since when?” Ian asks, pushing himself up off the ground and pulling on his boxers. “I thought you said you were free until the morning.’

“Something came up,” Mickey grumbles, looking anywhere but Ian as he finishes dressing.

“Bullshit,” Ian snaps and steps in front of Mickey, blocking his exit. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Mickey.”

“Not lying,” Mickey says, still refusing to look at Ian and instead focusing intently on a spot over Ian’s shoulder.

Ian is running through the events, trying to figure out what went wrong when he realizes. It doesn’t take a genius to put it together and Ian should have known. Ian sighs deeply, resigned to having to go through this song and dance. “Look, Mickey, is this because you said _you know_? It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

Mickey shrugs again, feigning nonchalance, “I know. That shit’s intense and lots of people spout off shit they don’t mean.”

Ian feels a sudden surge of anger at Mickey’s words, “Wait, what?”

“And look, you don’t gotta say anything back because of obligation or whatever – didn’t mean anything.”

Ian grabs Mickey’s chin with his free hand and forces him to meet Ian’s eyes, “You meant it. It wasn’t just because of the sex, I heard you – I remember it. And don’t tell me I didn’t mean it either. I did. I fucking lo – “

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey snaps, cutting Ian off and pulling away from his touch.

Ian steps forward, trying not to feel dejected because he knows this is just ow Mickey is. He should have seen this coming. “You don’t have to say it again, just don’t deny it.” Ian says quietly, “I won’t either, but I just – I want you to know that I do.”

Ian’s taking another step forward and then Mickey’s shoving at his chest, pushing him away roughly and growling, “What the fuck, Gallagher? What the fuck do you think this is?”

“Mick – “

“We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend, and we’re _not_ sayin’ this shit,” Mickey snaps angrily.

Ian laughs dryly and shakes his head, “Seriously? You take me out for lunch every day, ask me to hang out every day, sleep in my bed every night – what the fuck do you think this is?”

“We’re friends,” Mickey says coolly, holding his fists at his side, clenching and unclenching them as he speaks.

“We’re not friends,” Ian growls, stuck between the urge to move closer to Mickey or keep his distance. “We haven’t been friends since you kissed me and told me you wanted this!”

“I never said that!” Mickey yells, arms out to his side and leaned forward, “I told you this could be fuckin’ fun, but that it needed to stay under wraps – just fuckin’ around to take the edge off.” He runs a hand over his face and huffs out a breath, “And then you fuckin’ wreck it with this shit.”

Ian shakes his head, clenching his jaw tightly, “Don’t pretend that this doesn’t mean anything to you. You can deny it all you want, freak out when I tell you I love you, but I know you meant it too, and I know you love me.”

Mickey slowly walks over to Ian, meeting his gaze with a fury burning behind his eyes. Ian’s scared for the first time since he met Mickey that this might be his breaking point. He’s seen Mickey’s anger manifest into violence before but there was never a time that Ian thought it might be used against him. Ian’s not so sure that will hold true this time – Ian’s not so sure that he wouldn’t hurt Mickey if he tried anything.

“You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about me,” Mickey hisses, “Get your head out of your ass and stop living in a fuckin’ fairy world. This isn’t happening, not now, not fuckin’ ever.”

Then Mickey’s gone, door slamming loudly behind him as he storms out of Ian’s apartment.

Ian thinks he should be sad. He should be devastated that the first person outside his family he’s ever truly loved has bluntly told him that he doesn’t love him back. Ian has been so sure and confident in what they have that he’s never considered that maybe it is all one-sided.

And it is – isn’t it? Mickey doesn’t love him.

Ian should be sad, instead, he’s just filled with rage.

Fuck Mickey Milkovich.

-

Mickey avoids Ian at work the next day which Ian is far from broken up about. He doesn’t want to see Mickey either and can’t stand the idea of actually talking to him – so he doesn’t.

It doesn’t get better the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that.

They silently brush past each other in the hallways, not sparing a glance in the other's direction. It doesn’t go unnoticed, but no one asks about it, which Ian is thankful for, he doesn’t want to think too much about it. Ian’s also thankful for how angry he is because he knows the second he lets himself think too much about Mickey, and what happened, his anger is going to fade into crushing devastation.

It’s a week before Mickey acknowledges Ian and it’s only because he’s the assigned nurse to one of Ian’s patients.

Ian struggles to stay polite and professional in front of the patient and their co-workers because all he wants to do is scream at Mickey (and then kiss him and fucking, or maybe just do that instead of screaming). Ian scribbles on the clipboard and smiles at the patient, Clifford Dobbs.

Clifford is a ‘frequent flyer’ in his late 80s with an aggressive form of cancer and in the last stages of his life, he’s just checked in and it’s suspected this will be the last time. He’s a sweet guy and spends most of his time talking about his grandchildren and all of the nurses adore him (even Ian adores him – he’s about ready to adopt him as a grandfather). Clifford has an affinity for Mickey and refuses any nurse other than him as a primary caregiver. It’s cute – or would be any other time when Ian wasn’t furiously angry with Mickey.

It had been a long talk with Clifford, just Ian and Mickey sitting in the room – silently fuming with each other, but pushing that aside to explain to Clifford that there’s nothing more to be done for him but they’ll make him as comfortable as possible over the next few weeks.

It’s always a hard conversation to have, but Clifford knew it was coming and just smiles with watery eyes, thanking Ian and Mickey for everything.

“Well, Cliff, I know I haven’t been your doctor before, but it is my honor to meet someone the nurses speak so highly of. We’ll make sure to get you that morphine and Mickey will check back in on you in half an hour.” Ian reaches out and shakes Clifford’s hand.

“Pleasures all mine, Doc, thank you very much.” Clifford says and smiles at Mickey, “Alright, thirty minutes, boy, I’ll be watching the clock.”

Mickey laughs and pats Clifford’s shin, “Alright, old man, I’ll see you then.”

They exit the room and for a brief moment, Ian thinks he should ask how Mickey is doing. This is one of his favorite patients, someone he has truly grown to care for, and they just explained to him that he was going to die.

“You can’t put him on a morphine drip,” Mickey snaps coldly, and the moment is over.

The first time in a week Mickey has said anything to Ian without it being in front of a patient and it’s to boss him around.

“Last I checked that’s exactly what I’m doing, so I guess I can,” Ian says and turns away from Mickey.

“I’ve been dealing with this guy for years, morphine is too harsh.”

Ian glares at Mickey and says, “Morphine is fine. I read his file and there is nothing to indicate he’s ever had a problem with it. He just wants to ease the pain and morphine will do that.” He starts walking done the hall, willing Mickey to leave him alone but Mickey follows.

“Yeah, but it’s not like it’s the end all be all of painkillers, we can just give him something else.”

“No, I already told you what we are doing.”

“I know, Gallagher, but you’re making a bad call. I know him – I know better than you with him.”

Ian slams the clipboard down on the counter of the nurse's station and turns to look at Mickey. It’s stupid and he knows it’s stupid. Everything Mickey is saying is probably valid, he does know Clifford better than Ian and sometimes certain painkillers work better for different patients – that wouldn’t be in his file but Mickey would know that. Ian should just trust his judgment and trust Mickey, but he’s too fucking mad to care.

Ian snaps, no longer able to hold himself back, and all but shouts, “I told you what the treatment plan is and it’s not changing. I didn’t go through eight years of medical school to have a fucking nurse tell me what to do. You think you know better than me, get a fucking degree and back it up. You don’t make decisions; you do what I tell you. So, do it or get a new patient.”

Mickey blinks and swallows, slowly backing away from Ian. “Right, sorry, just a fuckin’ nurse. Dunno what I was thinking bossing your high and mighty ass around.”

Ian feels all of his anger drop out suddenly, just seeing how Mickey’s face falls even as he snaps back at Ian. Mickey’s crushed – this career is the one thing he’s been so proud of himself for and Ian’s just completely diminished that. He wants to take it all back, rewind and swallow all those words – pretend it never happened. He wants to hug Mickey and tell him he didn’t mean it – he was wrong and Mickey’s so important.

“Mick, I didn’t – “ Ian tries.

Mickey holds up a hand and shakes his head, “Nah, I’ve heard enough. Maybe some other stupid nurse to boss around and do your bidding.”

And for the second time that week, Ian watches Mickey walk away.

Ian sniffs and turns to the desk where Sarah is watching him with wide eyes and a slight disdain.

“Mr. Dobbs?” She asks tentatively, holding her hand out for his chart.

Ian looks at the chart, before scribbling a few things on it, “I think we’re going to prescribe methadone – he’s taken that before?”

Sarah nods, “Yeah, with a lot of success.”

Ian hands her the chart and walks away.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It had to be the chapter where Ian insults nurses that I'm posting... ugh.
> 
> Because this is fic about the medical world and nurses (though that is definitely not the only reason I'm about to say this), I just want to make a quick note about how incredible every single person in the medical field is! Not just right now, but always. I know so many people in that field - from doctors to nurses to pharmacists to health care aides and more. A million kudos to all of you and thank you for everything you do for the rest of us.


	8. The Ex-Boyfriend Impasse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian feels like he’s been hollowed out. It doesn’t hurt, or burn, or ache - it’s just nothing, just empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a long time - my bad. Enjoy some angst-y shit.

**_July._ **

Ian feels like he’s been hollowed out. It doesn’t hurt, or burn, or ache - _it’s just nothing, just empty._

Ian hasn’t seen Mickey since he yelled at him, not even a glimpse of him in the hallways, and it terrifies him to think that that moment might have been the last time he speaks to Mickey. Ian hates that it might be such bitter and cruel words that Micky is left with for a memory of Ian.

 _But_ …

Mickey did start it.

It’s not an excuse for his actions, Ian knows that, but it doesn’t stop it from being true.

He just wishes that he could talk to Mickey - sort out whatever happened and then move on or move forward (although Ian doubts that there is a forward anymore, Mickey made it painfully clear that he wasn’t interested in moving in any direction that Ian is involved anymore). Ian should have known better. Mickey seemed to be too good to be true from the beginning and yet, for some stupid reason, Ian let himself that Mickey was actually his.

It’s time Ian stops lying to himself.

“It’s not going to kill you to smile when he’s not in the same room, you know.”

Ian looks up from where he’s been idly picking at his crummy cafeteria food with a plastic fork. Dana is walking around the table and dropping heavily into the chair opposite of him with a relieved sigh. It’s only then that Ian briefly considered that the cafeteria is perhaps not the best place to throw his pity party.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Ian mutters, it even sounds fake to his own ears.

“Are we really still doing this?” Dana questions, arms crossed over her chest with a judgemental gaze.

Ian sighs and drops his fork, leaning back in his chair. “Fine, but it’s not my fault if he’s pissed at you later.”

“Honey, if you think I tease you, you should hear how often I tease him about this _secret affair_ ,” She uses air quotes around the final words with a snort, like it’s the worst kept secret at the hospital.

Ian frowns and looks down at his food again, “He told me that no one could know.”

Dana reaches over the table and puts her hand over Ian’s, it’s warm and soft and comforting. “He didn’t tell me explicitly, but we’ve been working together for nearly six years now, you pick up on some things without needing to be told.”

Ian nods, it makes sense he guesses, but it does make him a little jealous to think that Dana might be privy to information that has been hidden from Ian, especially now.

“He ended things,” Ian whispers, unsure why he’s telling her but thinking that maybe it is something he needs to do.

“Because of what you said to him?”

Ian looks up at her guiltily, remembering that his loud and public insult to Mickey was also an insult to her - _just a nurse_ , fuck.

“I’m sorry,” Ian says, “I didn’t mean it. I was so mad at him, I didn’t even think - you know, I think you and him are amazing - I would never -”

“It’s alright, no offense taken. I know.” Dana squeezes his hand and smiles warmly, “Heartbreak manifests in different ways.”

Heartbreak - oh yeah, that’s what Ian is feeling right now.

“He’s avoiding me,” Ian adds and runs a hand through his hair, “And I don’t know if I think I deserve it or not. It’s so fucked up.”

Dana nods and hums, “He’s just taking some time off right now, not sure where he went, but he’ll be back sometime next week.”

It’s strange how suddenly Ian starts to feel better. Just knowing that Mickey will be coming back is enough to make Ian feel something other than total and completely desolation.

“Now, I’ve got a patient for you, Doctor,” Dana squeezes his hand one last time and lets go, “Mickey’s brother, Iggy, is asking for you.”

Ian’s eyes widen and he almost shakes his head, he’s not sure that the solution to trying to function happily without Mickey is to spend time with another Milkovich.

“I know you don’t want to, but Mickey’s out of town and he asked for you by name,” Dana says and watches Ian carefully, “Come on, Ian, it’s your job.”

Ian swallows nervously and nods, standing up and silently praying that Mickey hasn’t actually said anything to his siblings about their fights (or fights, he’s still not sure if it was two fights or just one really long one).

-

Iggy grabs Ian’s arm before he even fully rounds the corner by the wings waiting room, he drags Ian behind him to a nearby room, mouth running at a million miles per minute, but Ian can’t process the information quickly enough to figure out what exactly seems to be wrong.

“Whoa, wait, hang on a second,” Ian pries away from Iggy’s grip and stops the determined march through the hall. “What happened, are you alright, and why are you out of your room?”

“S’not for me, Doc,” Iggy answers, squinting at Ian in bewilderment which leads Ian to deduce that Iggy’s already explained this is the spew of words earlier. “Mandy’s got a fucked leg you gotta look at,” Iggy states, nodding towards the room and leading Ian in.

Ian’s had is beginning to twitch nervously, he vaguely remembers a brief time when Mickey talked about his younger sister, Mandy, which means that instead of spending time with one Milkovich he isn’t sure he should be spending time around, he is now going to be seeing two of them.

_Wait - Scratch that._

When Ian follows Iggy into the room there is another surly guy standing next to the bed that a young dark haired, pretty woman - Mandy - is laying on. The man is blonde but has the same general facial features as Iggy and the signature Milkovich knuckle tattoos. Another brother, then.

It’s like walking into a lion’s den.

“This is the Doctor?” The other Milkovich brother asks, eyeing Ian up and down. “What is he, Doogie Howser?”

Iggy shoves his brother, “No, fuck head, this is Doctor Gallagher.”

“You can just call me Ian.” Ian corrects and grabs the clipboard with the chart at the end of Mandy’s bed.

“Cool,” Iggy says and points to his brother, “This is Colin and that’s Mandy.”

Ian smiles politely at both siblings, “Nice to meet you.” He scans over Mandy’s charts quickly, reading all of the notes made by Dana when she was admitted. “It says here that you fell?

“Yes,” Mandy hisses, baring her teeth and looking more terrifying than Ian can imagine any of her brothers ever being.

“You can fix her up for free, right?” Colin asks, only to be loudly smacked by Iggy.

“The fuck did I say about being cool?”

“Yeah, but he fixed you up for Mick, right? That’s why we asked for him”

“Mick’s not here though, we gotta be fuckin’ smart about it.”

“Holy fuck,” Mandy snaps, cutting off the bickering. “You’re both fucking idiots, go the fuck away and we’ll deal with money later!”

Iggy and Colin both sheepishly shuffle away, Colin murmuring, “She’s a bith when she’s hurt,” while Iggy says, “Fuckin’ best of luck to you, Doc.”

Ian feels some relief once both of Mickey’s brothers are gone, like he has a least a little more control of the situation.

“Sorry about them,” Mandy says, her temper seeming to have calmed a bit, “You don’t have to ‘scam the system’ or whatever the fuck it is that Mickey does for us, I can pay the bill whenever we get it.”

Ian laughs at Mandy’s eyeroll and smirk - she clearly has no intention to pay it back. He shrugs as he rolls up Mandy’s left pant leg enough to examine the affected area. “I get it,” Ian says, “My family didn’t have insurance for a long time, most of them still don’t, it’s hard - especially when you’re struggling on the Southside.”

Mandy wincesc when Ian presses on her led, “And what would a smoking hot Doctor know about the Southside?”

Ian laughs lightly at the compliment, feeling more and more eased by Mandy’s presence. “I’m from the Southside, actually. Grew up on South Wallace.”

“No fucking way! No wonder Mickey got you to help Iggy out,” Mandy says and grimaces when she accidentally moves her leg. “Fuck me, this hurts like a bitch.”

“It’s a good sign when it hurts though, much worse when it doesn’t.”

Mandy glares at Ian and crosses her arms, she looks a lot like Mickey when she does it: stubborn and petulant and pretty damn adorable. Ian’s a little charmed by her, not in the way he is by Mickey, but he finds himself drawn to her all the same. He thinks he might have a weakness for Milkoviches - well, he thinks about Iggy and Colin and decides that it’s probably just the two Milkoviches, maybe not all of them.

“If you think that makes me feel better, you’re wrong,” Mandy tells him, a hint of a growl to her voice.

Ian laughs lowly, “Yeah, sorry.” He picks up Mandy’s chart and scribbles a few things in. Mandy’s leg is definitely broken, possibly in two places and hopefully it’s just a closed fracture but it’s hard to tell by just feeling around her leg.

“So, you and Mick,” Mandy begins, propping herself up on her elbows, “Are you two close?”

Ian tries to keep his expression neutral, ignoring the nervous thumping in his chest at the mention of Mickey and his relationship. Ian’s not sure how to answer the question anymore. He used to think they were close, as close as any two people could be, but now he thinks that’s a vast overstatement.

“We hang out,” Ian settles on and hopes that it is enough to warrant a change in topic.

“Outside of work?”

Ian hesitates, “Sometimes.”

“So, you’re friends,” Mandy says it like it’s a fact and not a question, Ian thinks about answering anyways and telling her she’s wrong. Even if Mickey called him a friend before he thinks that’s probably be ruined at this point. Before he can say anything, or even consider what he would really say, Mandy continues, “Mickey’s never had many friends, or any friends other than maybe our idiot brothers and a couple cousins,” She rolls her eyes in the direction of the hallway before turning back to Ian and smiling, “He must like you.”

It’s the perfect opportunity to tell her she’s wrong and that Mickey couldn’t care less about Ian, instead he says, “I guess.”

“I know he comes off like an asshole and he kind of is one, but that’s just how he does emotions,” Mandy explains, “I mean, after a childhood like ours there isn’t really a way around that.”

“You mean with your dad?” Ian asks, only second guessing himself when he sees Mandy’s eyes widening.

“He told you about Terry?”

Ian scratches the back of his neck, suddenly feeling very hot and shy, “Just a bit, I guess.”

Mandy snorts and drops back down to rest her head against the scratchy uncomfortable pillows, “He likes you more than I thought, Mick never talks to anyone about that stuff, not with any of us.”

“He didn’t say much-” Ian tries to argue, only to be cut off sharply by Mandy.

“But he said something, that’s pretty fucking significant.”

Ian presses his lips tightly together and nods. He is not sure what to think of what Mandy’s revealed because every word seems to be advice that Mickey does care about Ian, possibly as deeply as Ian has always hoped, but he can’t forget Mickey’s harsh words. 

_We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend._

_Just fuckin’ around to take the edge off._

_You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about me._

_This isn’t happening, not now, not fuckin’ ever._

Ian told Micky that he loved him, with no expectation of reciprocation, and Mickey had told him to fuck off. That doesn’t feel like someone who cares, no matter what Mandy might say - she’s missing some key evidence that proves the contrary.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Mandy asks, motioning back to her leg, “Are you gonna have to cut it off?”

Ian shakes his head and half-smiles at the joke, even as his mood continues to creep slowly downwards. “It’s definitely broken but I’m going to have to take you to get an x-ray, just to check the severity. I just need to make sure there’s time to squeeze you in and then I’ll be right back.”

Mandy huffs out a deep breath of air and nods, “Alright, can you send douchebag one and two back in on your way out?”

“Sure,” Ian says and walks out of the room feeling more uneasy than he had going in.

-

The x-ray shows one closed fracture in her tibia. Luckily, it is a simple fix with a cast and doesn’t require surgery (if it had been two fractures Mandy may have needed the bone reset and there was no way that Ian was going to be able to pull that off under the table). Ian explains to Mandy how lucky she is and sets her in a wheelchair to roll her off to get the cast made.

Mandy’s sitting in the wheelchair, tapping her fingers on the armrest as Ian pushes her through the halls. Each tap weighs heavily on Ian’s mind, as if it’s slowly drawing him out to ask the questions that are burning through his mind.

Ian’s been thinking about his earlier conversation with Mandy the entire afternoon, he feels like there’s something there that he’s missing - some key element that will tell him for sure whether Mickey really cares or not. But then there’s another side, the one holding him back from asking, telling him that he already knows the answer and he just doesn’t like it.

He wants more but at the same time he’s not sure he could stand to hear more if it was that Mickey doesn’t care about him.

They make it to the elevator before he cracks.

“Does Mickey date much?”

Mandy raises an eyebrow and turns in the chair to look up at Ian. She has a small, sly smile when she says, “No, not really.”

Ian nods, “So you never met any, uhm, significant others?”

“Significant others? What are you ninety?” Mandy mocks and snickers. “No, Mickey doesn’t really do that shit. He’s got a fairly fucking serious aversion to any type of relationship he would actually enjoy.”

Ian feels his chest growing heavy and his throat feels thick and swollen. He doesn’t really know what to say or how to feel, he just knows that if he thought he couldn’t feel worse than he did this morning and he was wrong. 

“Oh,” He mutters softly.

Mandy sighs, a little sadly, “It would be a fucking shock if he ever did, never mind one that’s actually healthy. I can’t judge much on that front though.”

Ian doesn’t say anything for a long moment, averts his gaze from Mandy and watches as the numbers light up one by one, indicating the floors they’re going past.

“Ian?” Mandy says, drawing Ian back to meet her eyes.

Ian lets out a shaky breath, “That really true?”

Mandy’s eyes soften as she watches him, the realization dawning over her. “Oh Ian, shit, I’m sorry.”

Ian shakes his head and swallows, “It’s nothing.”

Mandy reaches back to put her hand over Ian’s, squeezing it gently, “You’re not just his friend, are you?” 

Ian doesn’t answer and Mandy seems to take that as confirmation. 

“Look, Ian, our dad - fucking Terry - he is a homophobic piece of shit and from what you know about him, I’m guessing you can figure out how well that worked out for Mickey. There’s shit I can’t tell you, but we all found out about Mickey just before Terry went to prison this last time, Terry included. And even though Mickey’s got his own place and Terry’s too fucking lazy to look for him, it’s fucking scary.” Mandy pauses, “What I said earlier, about him caring about you, that’s still true. The fact that he even talks about you to me or any of the family, shit, that’s huge. I don’t think you really get how rare that is for Mickey, he doesn’t let people in easily but once he does - you’re in. Whatever happened to make your face look like that,” She pokes at the corner of Ian’s lips, pulling at his frown, “He still fucking cares about you, that’s not going away, not ever.”

Ian wants to spill all of his pain and hardship onto Mandy, he wants to let her know exactly what happened - what Mickey said and how Ian responded. He’s only known her for an afternoon but he finds he already trusts her. He figures she’s one of those people for him, the kind that you can talk to for only a second and know that you are destined to be friends.

The elevator doors open before Ian has a chance to say anything, letting a small crowd of people in as Ian rolls Mandy out into the corridor.

He doesn’t ask about Mickey for the rest of the day, just casts Mandy’s leg and helps her back to her brothers. They’re sitting with a cousin now, Sandy, who greets Ian in a similar fashion to Mandy (“You’re cute, Mandy, you trying to scoop up a doc now?” which Mandy winks at and Ian blushes very hard). He waves as they leave the hospital, giving Many a private thankful smile.

-

Micky returns to the hospital the next week and it’s worse than Ian expected.

Mickey’s polite, courteous, and professional.

It’s like the last year never happened, like Mickey’s never held him while he slept or kissed him sweetly or stroked his hair. It is as if Ian’s boundless and unconditional love for Mickey never impacted his life - as if none of it was ever real.

Ian’s heart breaks every time Mickey calls him Doctor Gallagher.

At least when Mickey was mad at Ian he still felt something. Now, Ian just tries in vain to remind himself of Mandy’s words, remind himself that it was true, because otherwise he wouldn’t make it through the day.

-

**_August._ **

The month after Mickey’s return goes slowly and painfully. Ian aches every time he sees Mickey but somehow manages to keep his distance. He’s learned his lesson and if Mickey doesn’t want anything to do with Ian, then fine, Ian will leave him alone.

He just wishes it didn’t hurt so fucking badly.

-

**_September._ **

Paul Coleman is admitted with an incredibly severe case of pneumonia.

He’s in his later forties, has a wife and daughter, Elaine and Jane, who are standing by terrified for his life. “He’s been a little under the weather,” Elanie explains, “Then suddenly-” She starts crying and Ian watches as Jane hugs her.

Ian’s had a rough few months, he’s resolved it by diving further into his work, and he decides that he’ll be damned if he lets a case of pneumonia beat him.

Ian starts treatment immediately, he stays in the hospital for three days working himself ragged to save Paul’s life. He doesn’t let himself think of the alternative, he’s determined that despite the slow decline in Paul’s health, he will do this. On the fourth day, Paul finally starts to improve and two days after that, he is steadily on his way to a full recovery.

The joy on Elain and Jane’s faces is enough to make Ian feel happy for the first time in what feels like ages.

It’s short lived.

Only a few days later, early in the morning, Ian is paged to Paul’s room - he’s coding.

Ian rushes into the room, Paul is unconscious and surrounded by nurses, one of the new interns is doing compressions on his chest with a nurse pumping air into his lungs. The intern (something Fisher, Ian’s not sure really) tells him that Paul’s having cardiac arrest.

“What the fuck are you doing then?!” Ian snaps loudly and jumps into action, grabbing the defibrillators, charging to two hundred, and sending shocks through Paul.

Nothing changes.

Ian ups the charge and tries again - then again and again, but it’s too late.

Paul Coleman has long since flat lined and Ian’s lost him. 

Ian drops his head and holds out the paddles to the nearest nurse, his ears are ringing loudly and his head is pounding.

“Time of death, 4:19,” And then he’s out of the room.

-

Doctor Samuels pulls Ian aside in the afternoon, Ian can barely pay attention after he hears the word, “Misdiagnosis.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he must be listening because he still gets the basics of what Doctor Samuels is saying. Paul Coleman came in with what seemed to be a case of pneumonia but the bigger prevailing problem was a blood clot - a pulmonary embolism most likely - and Ian had missed it.

Then Doctor Samuels explains that the family is privy to the information, that they might try to sue for malpractice but it’s a minor case and the hospital has his back. He explains that these things happen, even to the best of doctors.

It’s an inevitability of their profession.

“It’s not your fault, you did everything you could.”

 _Did I?_ Ian thinks. If he had, Paul would still be alive. Ian was letting his emotions control him, he made a quick decision without looking deeper, motivated by a desire for a win rather than being a good fucking doctor.

Ian doesn’t say this, he nods and rushes away as quickly as he can manage. Doctor Samuels seems to understand that he doesn’t want to talk and lets Ian go with a pat on his shoulder. Ian hurries down the hall, clenching and unclenching his fists to try and keep himself steady - just for a few more steps.

He finds a storage closet and hides inside, dropping to the floor next to the metal shelves as soon as the door closes. He thinks he might cry, thinks he might be crying already, but mostly all he can feel are the dry, harsh gasps he’s taking. He feels like a failure, feels like he can’t breathe, and feels like he can’t do anything.

He knows what this is, knows why it’s happening, but he also knows that the last two times Mickey was there to help him. Now he doesn’t have Mickey, he doesn’t have anyone.

He thinks about counting but gives up on that quickly, it never helped much anyways. Instead he tries to let Doctor Samuels’s words repeat and echo in his mind.

_It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault._

_You did everything you could._

He doesn’t believe it.

He closes his eyes and decides to try something different - a distraction. Mickey isn’t here to talk to, but he can still think of a story, he can still play their stupid little game in his head.

Ina thinks about a day walking home from his first day of school with Lip and Fiona. Ian had just started kindergarten, Lip was in first grade and Fiona in her fifth. The whole walk Lip bragged about how he already knew what the teacher had been showing them, explaining to Fiona how much smarter he was than all the other kids. Fiona was amused, but maybe not entirely believing his claims, but Ian was upset that Lip wouldn’t shut up. Ian wanted to tell Fiona about his first day, how he had painted a picture that his teacher loved so much she had hung it up on the blackboard.

After stewing the whole walk home, Ian had finally lost his temper when they reach the front door and he shoved Lip as hard as he could. Lip was bigger and stronger back then, so when he shoved back Ian fell and tumbled down the steps. Fiona had screamed and yelled until Frank stumbled outside, especially when she saw that Ian couldn’t move one of his arms. Nearly six hours later the three of them were leaving the ER with Uab;s arm in a cast and a huge medical bill being crumpled up and tossed in the trash by Frank.

The doctors had to cut open his arm to reset the bone, Ian still has the long scar.

His breathing is more regular now, he still feels tense and broken apart, but at least he can fucking breathe. The memory was enough to distract him, calm him down and let his brain rest for a second.

Ian can fucking _breathe_.

He almost laughs, in awe that he actually managed that on his own.

Doctor Samuels was wrong. It was Ian’s fault and he didn’t do everything he could. He knows that he didn’t and he knows that he should have done more tests before settling on a diagnosis but at the time he needed to make a quick decision and he gave Paul six more days of life, time to be with his wife and daughter, that he wouldn’t have had without any treatment.

This might be the worst part about being a doctor but Ian knows that it is a part of being a doctor. Everyone makes mistakes, it’s just that making a mistake as a doctor can be deadly.

This will sit with Ian for the rest of his life, he knows that, but he finally feels like the choices he makes and the hardships of his job will be burdens that he can carry.

The door bursts open then.

Mickey looks around frantically until his eyes settle on Ian. He drops to his knees quickly and puts a hand on Ian’s cheek and his other hand over one of Ian’s. His eyes are wide and filled with worry as they search Ian’s for signs of panic.

“You’re okay,” Mickey insists, “You didn’t do anything wrong, Ian, you’re okay.”

Ian swallows, his throat feels dry and scratchy when he says, “I know, I’m okay.”

Mickey’s eyebrows crease and he looks so fucking relieved that Ian can’t believe this is the same guy who’s barely spared him a second glance for the past month.

“Yeah?” Mickey asks, a lilt to his voice.

“Yeah.”

Ian drags his thumb across Mickey’s pointer finger on the hand that’s holding his. Touching Mickey feels like breathing again, like coming home, he doesn’t know how he’s gone so long without this. He still loves Mickey, so much.

“You’re here,” Ian says quietly, afraid to shatter the fragile moment but unable to stop himself.

“I heard and I knew you would be, you know,” Mickey presses his lips together and looks down at his knees, “Just thought I’d look for you.”

Ian closes his eyes for a moment and leans into Mickey’s palm that’s still pressed against his cheek. “You were worried about me, you still care about me.”

Mickey doesn’t look up or respond but the way his fingers tighten around Ian’s says more than enough. Ian hasn’t forgotten how to understand Mickey’s language of subtle touches and words.

“I met Mandy,” Ian starts quietly, “She told me that the way you are with me is different than anyone else, that once someone is in your circle, you never let them go away. She thinks you still care about me.” He lifts Mickey’s hand up and kisses his knuckles lightly, “She's right, isn’t she?”

“Ian-”

“Do you love me?”

Mickey doesn’t speak - he doesn’t move. Ian knows this is what pushed Mickey away the first time and that he’s probably just going to push him even further away now, but Ian can’t continue on like this anymore.

“You don’t have to say yes,” Ian adds quietly, “Just don’t say no.”

Mickey finally looks up and his eyes are damp and red rimmed, like he’s holding back tears with everything he’s got. He sniffs and pulls back from Ian, standing and going to the door without saying a word. 

It isn’t until Mickey has a hand on the doorknob that he turns and says, “I was with Samuels when he talked to the family, they don’t blame you, Ian, so you shouldn’t either.”

Ian gives him a small nod, “Okay.”

Mickey doesn’t leave yet, stays for a moment longer frozen in time, and watching Ian sadly. Quietly, he says, “I’m sorry.”

Then he swings open the door and walks into the hall.


	9. The Friendship (Re)Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week passes and Mickey doesn’t even spare Ian a glance. Ian isn’t offended though, he respects it and keeps his distance, even though it is killing him. All Ian has been able to think about is the way that Mickey froze when Ian asked, “Do you love me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a couple chapters left!! Hoping to get the next couple done quickly but the last one might be a little bit.

**_September._ **

A week passes and Mickey doesn’t even spare Ian a glance. Ian isn’t offended though, he respects it and keeps his distance, even though it is killing him. All Ian has been able to think about is the way that Mickey froze when Ian asked,  _ “Do you love me?” _

Ian replays it in his head over and over - the way Mickey’s mouth dropped open, the silent stammering as he tried to think of something else to say, and then - the one moment that repeats more than any other - Mickey didn’t say  _ no _ .

He could have - he could have finally closed the door on Ian and said no. He could have even told Ian to fuck off or that he’s a fucking idiot, but he didn’t.

Ian knows -  _ he fucking knows _ \- that it means something, and he’s willing to wait to find out what that it.

-

Mickey’s silence ends on the Monday of the second week.

There are four elderly patients from the same assisted living home with similar symptoms admitted and placed in a shared room. Ian is assigned as the doctor for all four of them and Mickey is his nurse. They’re still waiting on the final test results for an official diagnosis, but Ian’s certain it’s a strain of influenza. It’s the season and all of the symptoms are consistent with this year’s strain.

Mickey is talking to one of the patients, a woman named Gladys. She has a bit of a stutter, apparently developed over the past few years due to multiple strokes. The other three patients are fairly calm and collected, it’s not ideal to be in the hospital, but they’re at least comfortable being in a room together. Gladys is nervous, she hasn’t liked hospitals since she lost her wife three years prior. Mickey, as the most incredible nurse in the world (Ian’s possibly bias), is especially attuned to patients that need some extra care. He brings her some water to drink, but Gladys’ hand is shaking too much to hold the cup. Mickey holds onto it for her and helps her to sip at it until she is more calmed.

Ian is assisting one of the other patients, he’s trying his best to focus, but it’s impossible when Mickey is in the room. He can’t help staring at Mickey and admiring his dedication to his job.

“I-I-I,” Gladys scowls in frustration and looks down at her sheets, cheeks burning with shame. “Tha-a-nk you,” She stammers the words out with what looks like great effort.

Mickey doesn’t acknowledge her words beyond a shrug, modest as ever and always so bashful when his patients show gratitude to him. His eyes focus on the way Gladys is still trembling, she seems uncomfortable and scared. As always, Mickey is attuned to it and acting quicker than Ian can process what he might be able to do for her.

“You’ll be out of here soon, I promise,” Mickey says, then glances at Ian for the first time in what feels like a century. He nods his head, directing Ian to walk over to the bed. Ian is too shocked to think, just does what Mickey wants. He stops at the foot of Gladys’ bed, holding his hands behind his back in a stance that has been most natural and comfortable when he’s feeling unsteady since his days in Junior ROTC.

“This guy here,” Mickey starts, directing his attention back to Gladys, “He’s your doctor. I gotta tell ya, I’ve been working her for awhile and Doctor Gallagher is one of the best. He’s gonna take really good care of you, I promise.”

Gladys smiles up at Mickey, her eyes wet when she grabs his hand and squeezes it as tightly as she can. Mickey looks back over at Ian with a hesitant smile, like he didn’t necessarily mean to say all of that, but he did, and now here they are.

Ian smiles back reassuringly, and he hopes more calmly than he feels. His throat is thick with words and feelings he knows he can’t yet express. A smile is enough for now though - words of affirmation and a smile.

That’s something and that’s enough.

-

A day later, Ian is doing paperwork in the staff room when Mickey next approaches him. Mickey lays a folder with a patient's chart on the table and drops into the seat beside Ian.

“Can you look at this?” He asks.

Ian blinks and nods, surprised that Mickey is once again acknowledging him, even if it’s still in a work setting.

Mickey scratches the back of his neck and drags his hand up through his hair, messing it up, as Ian reads the file. He fidgets, tapping his feet and twisting his hands together. It takes Ian a moment to figure out what’s going on - Mickey is nervous. Ian frowns, there was a time in his life that this might have made Ian peevishly pleased, knowing that he could make someone feel that way just by being near them. He doesn’t want that anymore though, he hasn’t for years, and especially not from Mickey.

He always wants Mickey to feel comfortable with him.

“You know,” Ian keeps his voice as soft as he can, and says, “You know, you can always come to me, Mickey. About anything.”

Mickey gnaws on his lower lip, keeping his eyes directed to the folder, and nods.

That’s the most he is going to get from Mickey, but it’s enough. Ian turns his attention back to the file, “It looks like the early stage of lung cancer.” He reads over the information and flips pages to look at the x-rays. It’s a simple diagnosis to make, Ian knows that Mickey doesn’t need his help with this.

Ian realizes that’s why Mickey is nervous - not because he didn’t want Ian to know that he needs help, but instead he is hoping that Ian doesn’t notice that he doesn’t need help.

Mickey snatches the folder back. He has a pink tinge to his cheeks as he walks out, calling out a quick thanks over his shoulder.

Ian smiles and leans back in his seat.  _ Progress. _

-

On Saturday, the following week, Ian is exhausted. He’s working a night shift after spending the last couple of weeks working days. He’s out of sorts and cranky, he needs more routine in his life. Usually he gets more warning before his shifts switch, but not tonight. The worst part is that he knows that this is only temporary. He is just covering a couple shifts since one of their more senior Doctors, Doctor Maria Dahl, developed shingles. The schedule is being rearranged to make something more consistent but for a few days it’s going to be a pain in the ass.

Especially for Ian, who stupidly volunteered in an effort to portray himself as a team player.

(See, a few weeks earlier Lip had warned him, “Since the beginning of your internship they have been trying to determine who they’re going to want to keep after the residency. You don’t want to be that guy four years later that they don’t see as a benefit and is left without a fucking job.”

And no, Ian did not want to be that guy).

Ian feels like a zombie as he pulls on his scrubs and closes his locker, ignoring any of the chatter in the locker room from his fellow Residents. He meanders into the hall and goes up to the nurses desk to receive the charts and patient list for the night. He’s so used to Dana sitting at the desk that it throws him off when it’s Mickey sitting in her regular spot, checking out the computer and scribbling down notes. Ian shakes his head and sniffs, trying to focus and get his mind ready for the encounter. Mickey’s been starting to warm up to Ian but it’s still not the same. Still not enough for Ian to feel totally comfortable with Mickey and where they stand.

Ian stops at the desk, trying his best to look happy and polite but without trying too hard. It’s a fine line and he’s sure he’s failing. He never has been able to keep his emotions in check when it comes to Mickey.

“Hey,” Ian says, he sounds nervous -  _ fuck, why does he sound so fucking nervous? _

Mickey barely spares Ian a glance before he’s reaching for a stack of folders. Of course Mickey knew that Ian would be working, he has always paid more attention to the schedule then Ian has. “These are all of Dahl’s patients, don’t let any of them die,” Mickey explains monotonously. He details who is at the highest risk, requiring the most attention, and who is at the lowest risk, requiring the least attention. He doesn’t look up throughout the entire explanation, just keeps switching between staring at the papers on his desk and the computer screen. Ian’s heart feels heavy in his chest, sinking and weighing him down. He has a sneaking suspicion that Mickey has no reason to be avoiding looking at Ian other than just wanting to.

Ian doesn’t even try to fake a happy tone when he says, “Alright, I’ll get to work then.” He grabs the files of the desk and walks away from the counter.

The good thing about night shifts is that barring an emergency, they’re easy shifts. It’s literally as simple as ‘don’t let the patients die’ and that’s all. Ian doesn’t even need to go into the rooms often. The nurses are the ones who go into the patient's room every hour (at the least) and check on vitals. Ian’s only purpose for being in the hospital is to do his initial rounds, his final rounds, and in case there’s an emergency or someone specifically asks for a doctor.

Unfortunately, that leaves Ian bored as fuck and sitting in the staff room on their deceivingly uncomfortable couch, which doesn’t help him feel less drained and unenergetic. He wishes he never agreed to take over the fucking night shifts.

Ian looks up when someone walks into the room. He is a little surprised when he sees that it’s Mickey holding two large to-go cups of coffee from the cafeteria.

“You look like shit and you smell fucking terrible,” Mickey says. It’s crass and rude, but Mickey’s actually looking at him.

Ian tries his best but can’t help the small dreamy smile from reaching his lips. “I woke up late, didn’t have time to shower, barely got enough sleep.”

Mickey nods, chewing on his lower lip and standing awkwardly in front of Ian. “Night shifts, man,” Mickey says.

Ian nods, not sure what else to say to it. He wants to be able to fall back into easy banter with Mickey but it’s not so simple. Mickey shuffles on his feet and holds up the coffee in his left hand. “They, uh, gave me an extra,” Mickey explains, “Just figured you drink coffee so, you can have it.” He puts it down on the coffee table and turns around, rushing out of the room without another word.

Ian stares at the door for a long moment after Mickey has already retreated through it. He looks down at the coffee and smiles. Ian knows better than to think the cafeteria workers would have given Mickey an extra coffee by mistake. The manager of the cafeteria is stingy and angry, keeping count of every single cup and what it is used for. The employees could be written up and charged for something like that, and he knows none of them are willing to risk it. Not over a cup of coffee at least.

Ian pops off the plastic lid and his suspicions are confirmed. He swirls his pinky around in the cup, licking off the drops of coffee from the tip of his finger and smiling. One cream, no sugar - just how Ian likes his morning cup of coffee.

Ian feels lighter than air.

-

Mickey brings Ian a coffee the next night as well, and then the night after that as well. Ian almost regrets it when he wakes up in the morning for his regular shift but is pleasantly surprised when Mickey is there with another ‘extra’ coffee. That’s the moment that Ian starts to notice a real difference. It doesn’t happen suddenly but Mickey starts chatting with him casually. He asks how Ian’s day off was or if he watched a show the night before, talks about how he doesn’t like the rain and they  _ “don’t live in fucking Seattle for a reason”. _

Ian loves it. Every single second of attention Mickey gives Ian is the best part of his day. Ian knows that he had missed Mickey, but somehow it didn’t register how much until Mickey began to fill up all those gaping holes he left in Ian’s life.

Ian’s eating in the cafeteria. On his tray sits a sandwich, a lemon square, and two large cups of coffee to-go. Earlier Mickey had mentioned that he would be taking his lunch around two. Ian had made sure that he would be able to take his then as well. It may not have been a hint that Mickey wanted to spend lunch with Ian, but on the off chance he did, Ian would be there waiting.

Mickey sits down at the small table just as Ian is starting on the second half of his sandwich. Mickey has a sandwich and a cup of jello on his tray, and balanced on either side is a large cup of coffee to-go. Ian tries his best not to laugh as he chews, chuckling and shaking his head. Mickey opens the plastic container for his sandwich and snorts loudly.

“They, uh, accidentally gave me one,” Ian teases with a cheeky grin.

Mickey sucks on his teeth and raises his eyebrows. “C’mon, Gallagher, gotta have a better excuse than that.”

Ian shrugs, “Who says I’m not telling the truth. I’ve found that over the past few days that it’s apparently very common for the cafeteria to do that.”

Mickey laughs then, smiling wide and bright, making Ian fall in love with him all over again. God, he’s missed the sound of that fucking laugh. It’s like a long lost favorite song that he’s been trying in vain to hum the tune to. Ian ignores his food in favour of watching Mickey, committing the way his nose crinkles up and his eyes shine a little brighter to memory. He probably looks creepy, just staring, and he knows he should stop before Mickey notices what he’s doing, but he doesn’t want to.

Sometimes he thinks he shouldn’t love Mickey this much anymore, not after everything that happened. But love isn’t something that can be decided and dictated. Ian is sure there won’t be a day that he doesn’t love Mickey this much, no matter what happens.

“I guess we’ll just be really fucking caffeinated then,” Ian says, swapping the coffee he has for Mickey with the one Mickey has for him. “The patients will probably think we’re on something though.”

Mickey snorts again, sticking a spoon in his jell-o and scooping some out, “I can think of worse things.”

Ian smiles softly and nods, “Yeah, me too.”

Mickey narrows his eyes, noticing the way Ian is blatantly staring at him, but it isn’t in an angry way. It’s playful and flirtatious, a little smile on his lips as he swallows and takes another bit. Ian laughs and finally looks away, his chest feels light and warm. Finally, fucking finally, he thinks he might know where Mickey’s head is at.

Then again, he’s thought that before.

Ian tries not to let the dark thought invade his happiness. Instead he focuses on the way Mickey keeps sneaking glances at him in the same way Ian has been, and how every time their eyes meet it’s not awkward. They hold the other's gaze, just for a moment, smile and go back to eating. It’s stupid and Ian feels like he’s in middle school but he wouldn’t change it for anything.

-

**_October._ **

Mickey starts talking to Ian again and it’s not in the casual work buddy way, even though it stays at work, it’s exactly like it was before, teasing and flirting while they work. Mickey smiles just a bit brighter every time he sees Ian, nudging his shoulder and flipping Ian off when he walks past. It feels like Ian’s taken a million steps back but also a million forwards. They aren’t in the place they used to be, not when they were together - or sort of together - but it’s still better than the months before. Better than the silence and polite greetings.

God, anything is fucking better than that was.

Ian feels like he did before, wandering after Mickey and pining like a fucking idiot. Except, this time he knows there is something there. He knows that the aching in his chest is mutual, he can see it. He sees it in the way Mickey will still hesitate. The twitch of his hand, wanting to reach out just for a touch, but staying still, the longing in his eyes, the flashes of regret. Ian knows with every fiber of his being that Mickey wants more - wants Ian.

He wonders if Mickey knows that Ian would take him back in a second.

Yes, he was mad, so fucking mad, but he’s long since forgiven Mickey. Ian doesn’t understand Mickey’s fear, not exactly, but he still knows how scary it can be.

He never had the same type of overbearing shadow of certainty that he would be dead, or worse, if his father found out who he is. Frank had been abusive in his own way, but never for a reason beyond his alcoholism and being an asshole, and definitely never because of Ian’s sexuality. Frank would be the fucking last person to care about that. Ian did understand fear that could come from being gay though. Fear of someone in his neighbourhood finding out, fear of his brothers and sisters rejecting him. It isn’t the same, but he still knows what it is like to be scared of who he is, of being hated because of who he is.

Ian can remember exactly how terrifying that was, but for Ian it is in the past. Not even the recent past, it’s been years since he’s been scared like that.

(He’s been scared, so fucking scared, but it’s different now. It’s not that type of fear and it's never for that reason.)

He knows Mickey doesn’t live with his father, doesn’t even see his father, but he knows that it’s hard to let go of that. It’s hard to move forward from something like that. Ian has his own demons and fears that he can’t seem to let go of.

Ian wants to talk to him about it all, clear the air, get back to where they were. He’s just not sure how to start the conversation.

-

Ian doesn’t like to ask for help, doesn’t even like to ask for advice. It’s something he’s been trying to work on and improve at. He knows that he needs help sometimes, someone else just to help him sort out his thoughts, but it’s so damn hard to admit it sometimes. He has to sit on it for awhile, debate what he needs out of the conversation, whether another opinion will be beneficial or not. And after he takes his time, slowly convincing himself that -  _ yes, he just fucking needs to talking to someone _ \- he goes to Lip.

It’s always easiest to talk to Lip.

Lip’s on one of his breaks from the robotics lab at the University. He’s helping to develop some type of system that will assist in perfecting difficult surgeries. Lip’s explained it a couple of times but it’s all a little over Ian’s head. Biology he understands, but engineering is something he will never be able to wrap his head around. It is convenient for Ian that Lip has been working on medical related technology as the labs are close to the Hospital that Ian works at.

Lip meets him outside for a fifteen minute break. He pays a street vendor, handing over a few crumpled bills and passing Ian his hot dog before they make their way to a nearby bench. Lip takes a bite, chewing and swallowing before looking over at Ian.

Lip starts telling him about the latest in the robotics lab and how close they are to finishing the technology. “You know, we’ve got a surgeon and a hospital we’re going to be working with in Washington in a few months, he’s looking for a team of residents to help. I could pass your info along if you’re interested.”

Ian narrows his eyes at Lip, “I like my job and weren’t you just telling me to prove my loyalty?”

Lip shrugs, “Just think it’d be fun to work together and it’s a good opportunity. Could be part of something revolutionary.”

Ian rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah.”

Lip laughs and takes out a cigarette, lighting it and leaning back on the bench. “Alright, alright. So, what’s this about?”

“Just catching up,” Ian says, barely fighting the urge to just keep quiet and go back to work. He fucking hates asking for advice.

Lip continues to stare at Ian, “C’mon Ian, you never stop by for a social call.”

Ian laughs but nods, “Does that make me an asshole?”

“Definitely. But aren’t we all?” Lip chuckles, takes a final bite before tossing his garbage into the nearby can and lighting up a cigarette. “So, regal me with tales of your woes.”

Ian sighs and shakes his head, his fucking brother, so pretentious sometimes. “Alright, but try to stay impartial?”

Lip gives Ian a slight nod. Ian knows that it doesn’t mean anything. When it comes to a scam or his work, he can view a problem from any and every angle until he finds the solution, but with personal problems, he tends to have one opinion and it’s one that rarely tends to change.

“I met a guy a while ago,” Ian starts, looking down at his hands in his lap and bouncing his knee. “He’s a nurse, we work together and we started hooking up. He’s not out though and he’s fucking skittish sometimes about an actual relationship. I thought that with me it was different, or I don’t know, thought we were fucking further along than we were, and then I told him-” Ian pauses, hesitating to tell Lip the depth of his feelings out of fear of being told he is being a lovestruck idiot. “I told him something that freaked him out, he said some shitty stuff and left.”

“Seems pretty cut and dry to me,” Lip quips.

Ian shakes his head, “It’s not. He’s… he’s not someone I can just move on from. Things were awkward for awhile but he’s talking to me again and it feels like we’re almost back to the point we were at before. I just don’t know how to start that conversation, what the fuck can I even say? I get why he freaked out, he’s scared and I get it, but I just - fuck, I don’t know.”

Lip places a heavy hand on Ian’s shoulder and squeezes, “Shit situation.”

Ian huffs a laugh, “You have no idea.”

“Alright,” Lip says, tossing the butt of his cigarette on the ground and leaning forward on his elbows. “You’re not gonna like what I have to say, I’m warning you now.”

Ian presses his lips together in a tight line, he had hoped that Lip would give him good news but in his heart he had known this would be the reality.

“He doesn’t want the same thing as you.”

“You don’t-”

“Yeah, I do,” Lip cuts Ian off, “I know you. I know that you’ve wanted a solid relationship since you were fifteen and I know that if he’s freaking out, he doesn’t want that. Ian, you’ve got a lot to consider here. If he’s scared, is this really the best thing for him? Forcing him into something he’s not ready for - might not want. And what about you? You’ve got to take care of yourself first. You need stability, Ian. Your job’s already sporadic and hectic, and don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you have your job and that you like your job. But do you need even more stress and instability? You’ve been doing so well for so long, you don’t need something fucking that up.”

Ian feels a heaviness in his chest, thick and overwhelming, weighing his heart down. He doesn’t want to admit that Lip has a point, but he does. Ian hasn’t told Lip about the panic attacks he’s been experiencing at work and even without that knowledge Lip can hit the nail on the head. His job is adding stress and instability to his life - it’s been worse since he started the internship. He wonders if that’s because now he’s forced to have real life experiences of the medical field or if it’s Mickey. Maybe it’s a combination of the two.

“I love him,” Ian admits quietly.

“I figured.”

Ian sniffs and blinks a few times, clearing out his wetness in his eyes, “I can’t just walk away from this, Lip. I see him every day and it’s killing me. I know it might be better for me but I just, I need to talk to him. I need to know what he wants.”

“Alright, just remember that you’re not doing either one of you a favour by forcing yourself into something you don’t want.” Lip says and looks at his watch, “I’ve got to head back soon, just think about it, okay? And the job too, honestly, it might be good for you to go somewhere else.”

Ian nods, staying hunched over on the bench as Lip stands and walks away.


	10. The Crucial Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s late, nearly midnight, and Mickey’s going to be in the hospital for the rest of the night. Ian’s shift just ended, he could leave - should leave - and let Mickey take a nap. But he’s not sure when he’ll get an opportunity like this again.
> 
> Ian’s not waiting any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.... this is long overdue, especially considering I just had to edit it.
> 
> NOTE: I have some maybe warnings at the end of the chapter. Not really spoiler-y, and nothing bad, but just a heads up maybe if you don't like surprises.

_**October.** _

It’s as if Mickey knows that Ian wants to talk to him.

Mickey’s busier than ever in the days following Ian’s conversation with Lip. Even when Ian thinks he might have a shot at talking to him, Mickey makes an excuse to be around someone else or to stay with a patient. It is not that Ian hasn’t had a chance to be around Mickey alone, to joke and laugh and flirt, but that it hasn’t been the right place or the right time - which is private and with no interruptions for at least a half-hour.

Ian catches Mickey walking into an empty on-call room one night, and although it’s not ideal, Ian takes his chance. It’s late, nearly midnight, and Mickey’s going to be in the hospital for the rest of the night. Ian’s shift just ended, he could leave - should leave - and let Mickey take a nap. But he’s not sure when he’ll get an opportunity like this again.

Ian’s not waiting any longer.

He rushes down the hall and slips through the door, turning the lock as soon as he is inside. Mickey looks up from where he’s stretched out on the lower bunk of the bed furthest from the door.

“Isn’t your shift over, Gallagher?” Mickey grumbles his voice heavy with exhaustion.

“I thought we could talk,” Ian says before he can talk himself out of it, “Since you’re on your break right now.”

Mickey sits up, seeming more awake and more cautious now. “Talk about what?”

Ian resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, Mickey is trying to play dumb, Ian shouldn’t have expected more. 

“You know,” Ian says, “Everything that went down between us.”

“Ian-”

“We gotta talk about this, Mick,” Ian insists. Mickey doesn’t budge and Ian can feel himself starting to fall apart. He can’t let Lip be right, he needs to talk to Mickey, needs to make this work. “Please, Mick, I just - please,” Ian takes the few steps across the room to sit on the bunk beside Mickey.

Mickey narrows his eyes at Ian, still clearly reluctant to talk but says, “Fine. What?”

Ian nods and takes a deep breath. This is happening, this is his one shot, he needs to get this right. “Before anything else, I’m sorry, for what I said, about you're position and being a nurse. You are fucking amazing at your job, I could never do what you do, but you don’t even break a sweat. Your advice and your help, I would be so lost without it. I have all this fucking schooling but it’s nothing compared to your experience.”

Mickey’s lips twitch up at the corners as he nods, “Thanks. That’s - yeah, thanks.”

Ian nods, feeling a little more confident, even though he knows that was the easiest part. He takes a deep breath, “But I’m not sorry I said I love you.”

Mickey freezes, the beginnings of a smiling fading with Ian’s words.

“I meant it, Mickey. I love you. That’s not something I’m going to feel bad for, it’s not something I can pretend isn’t there.” Ian looks over at Mickey, sees his tight jaw but wide eyes. Ian’s not sure how to interpret that. “I’m not mad at you for what you said, or how you acted, I understand now. I know you’re not out and that all of this is scary, but I can’t be in this in-between place, Mick. I can’t be your fuck buddy anymore, and I can’t be in this weird flirty place either. I don’t need you to tell me you love me, or fucking come out, I just need to know that this is actually something. That I mean something to you, that you actually want something real with me.” Ian feels shaky and nervous, laying his feelings out, unaware of where it is going to lead to. 

Mickey’s been deadly silent the whole time, not moving an inch.

There’s more to say, more to tell Mickey. Ian wonders if he should mention his Bipolar Disorder and the accompanying anxiety that he’s been trying to handle. He hates thinking about it, hates talking about it even more. Ian wonders if then Mickey would stay with him. If he would agree to be in a relationship because he thinks it’s what Ian needs. Ian swallows, his throat feels dry. He can’t tell Mickey, can’t let guilt be the reason Mickey wants to be with him. Besides, there's just as much of chance that it will only make Mickey flee faster.

It’s a long silence, deafening and painful. Ian waits and waits, doesn’t want to push, but he just fucking needs to know.

“I don’t want that,” Mickey says quietly, his voice rough even in a whisper.

Ian crumbles with his words.

Mickey chews on his lower lip, rubbing a hand over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck, why couldn’t you just leave it, Ian?” Mickey sighs and shakes his head, “I’m not fuckin’ ashamed of bein’ gay. That’s not it. I just - it’s my fuckin’ business, a’ight? Don’t need everybody shoving their fuckin’ noses in it.”

Ian’s breaths are short and quick as he listens. He's trying his best to stay calm. Logically, he knew this was a possibility and yet somehow, he still hadn’t considered it.

“I just - I can’t do this shit, Ian. I can’t be that guy. I can’t - fuckin’ boyfriends.” Mickey’s words seem to get jumbled in his head before they come out. He’s struggling through the sentence, trying to verbalize his thoughts.

Ian gets it then, sees the fear in Mickey’s eyes. Mickey’s still terrified. He denies it, pretends that he’s accepted who he is, but he hasn’t.

“You don’t date men,” Ian says, finally resigning himself to the truth of it. He doesn’t know why it surprises him, he knew - he fucking knew. But he didn’t realize that it was this.

“I don’t date, fuckin’ period,” Mickey growls as if that somehow makes it better.

Ian nods and laughs bitterly. “Because you’re interested in men, because you’re gay, you don’t date.”

“That’s not-"

“Isn’t it though?” Ian turns and meets Mickey’s stare, determined to finally get this answer. He knows he’s pushing, he knows that he’s angry when he should be trying to help Mickey. But fuck, it’s still so hard to hear, hard to know that this is the reality.

Ian’s so fucking insanely in love with Mickey and nothing is ever going to come out of it.

Mickey gaze softens a bit, his lower lip drops as he breathes in, “I’m sorry.”

“Was it all in my head?” Ian whispers, “I thought - I just thought maybe...”

Mickey swallows and shakes his head, but even that looks like he’s pushing against his natural instincts. Mickey raises a hand, placing it on Ian’s cheek and rubbing his thumb along Ian’s cheekbone. He's looking at Ian like he’s precious and awe-worthy, but Ian knows now that it's not true. Mickey leans forward, closes the distance between them and kisses Ian firmly. Just a touch of Mickey’s lips and Ian feels warm everywhere. He lights up under Mickey’s hands as they make trails along his waist and neck. 

“I missed you,” Mickey whispers against Ian’s lips, “Missed this.”

Ian whimpers, nodding just slightly before he pushes forwards. He ignores everything telling him that this is a terrible idea. He climbs over Mickey, pressing him into the shitty mattress. He focuses on the feel of Mickey’s mouth, how his body responds and reacts so beautifully to Ian’s. When they’re like this, near attached at every point and wrapped around each other, Ian knows that they’re meant for each other. It feels like destiny that they met.

God, Ian misses this, misses Mickey.

It feels like he’s been wandering the desert without water, throat parched and head pounding. Lost and confused as he searches for something, anything, to take away the pain. And now he has, now he’s stumbled upon a beautiful fucking oasis, and everything in the world feels fucking right.

Except, this oasis - this moment - isn’t real.

It’s a mirage.

It’s a glimpse, a tease, of something Ian wants so desperately but knows he can’t have.

Mickey doesn’t want him. Whether it’s a genuine feeling or driven by his fear, it’s still true. Mickey doesn’t want Ian.

Mickey drops his head, mouthing wetly at Ian’s neck, sucking at his skin. Ian grips Mickey’s hair and holds him closer, holds him as close as he can. Ian closes his eyes, trying to quiet his mind and just fucking feel. He knows he shouldn’t do this, but he _fucking wants it_.

Mickey’s hands are soft and slow. They brush through Ian’s hair, draw gentle lines across his neck, over his shoulder and down his back. Mickey pulls at the hem of Ian’s shirt before sitting up. Ian moves with him, straddling Mickey's lap and letting Mickey pull his shirt off. Ian feels like he’s in a dream, hazy and nostalgic for something he hasn’t yet lost.

Mickey continues to trace the lines of Ian’s body, hands everywhere like he’s trying to memorize every curve. Ian knows the feeling, knows how desperately he needs that as well. He tugs off Mickey’s shirt in one swift motion before crashing their mouths together once again. Ian holds him just a tighter, a bit closer, plunging his tongue in Mickey’s mouth. He's desperate to taste Mickey, wishing he would never have to stop.

Mickey pulls Ian against him, falling back heavily on the mattress. Ian is covering every inch of him. Ian doesn’t bother holding himself up, just pins Mickey down, moving his lips to suck possessively at Mickey’s neck. He knows he has no right anymore. He can’t claim Mickey as he’s own because now he knows that Mickey never was, but he still wants it. He wants this to last, to echo into the following days, weeks, months. He wants to allow himself, for a moment, to think that maybe in a different world - Mickey could have been his.

He reaches down, tugging Mickey’s scrubs past his hips, far enough that he can pull out his cock. Ian uses the precome at his slit, smoothing over the head with his thumb. He savours the way Mickey breathes out, “Fuck.” 

Ian keeps his hand moving slowly, rubbing over the head again and again. Watching the way Mickey’s face screws up as he tries to hold himself together.

Mickey gets impatient. Ian knew he would, that’s just how Mickey is. But Ian almost feels a little sad when Mickey reaches down to tear at Ian’s pants and boxers until they’re pushed down to his knees. He knows it won’t be much longer.

Ian’s cock is left resting against Mickey’s thigh, hard, heavy and leaking. Ian changes tactics, wrapping his fist tightly around Mickey’s cock and giving him a few fast strokes. Mickey grunts and leans his head back, lips parted and looking so welcoming. Ian can’t resist leaning in to kiss him, open-mouthed and hot. Mickey grabs Ian’s cock, not bothering to tease and pumping his hand up and down speedily. He follows Ian’s lead, rubbing over the head every few strokes. Ian tries to keep his rhythm steady but he’s falling to pieces under Mickey’s hands.

But that’s always been the problem, hasn’t it?

Ian gasps into Mickey’s mouth. Mickey smiles, always finding as much pleasure in making Ian feel good as he does himself. Ian curses and wraps his free hand behind Mickey’s neck, forcing him back into the kiss. He’s just not ready to part yet. Not yet.

Ian’s close, so fucking close. He can feel the heat burning low in his core, building and intensifying as Mickey continues to tug on his cock. Ian moves his hand faster, desperate to bring Mickey to the edge now, make him feel everything that Ian is. Ian gasps and drops his head to rest against Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey’s smells amazing, his body is warm and his free hand soft but strong as it wraps around Ian’s waist. Ian remembers a time when he had thought that if he were allowed, he would never want to spend a day without Mickey’s arms holding him.

“How am I supposed to say goodbye to you?” Ian whispers, his mind foggy with arousal and sadness knowing that this has to be the last time.

Mickey’s pulls Ian in closer, breathing heavily as his hand moves faster. 

“Don’t,” He murmurs back, “Don’t say goodbye, don’t fuckin’ do that to me, Ian.”

Ian wants to say okay, wants to tell him that he will never leave Mickey. He doesn’t want to leave. God, he doesn’t want to, but he knows he has to. He can’t do this anymore, can’t torture himself with the slim chance that Mickey could accept who is someday - accept what he and Ian have.

Ian instead says, “I love you.” One last time, with one last kiss as they fall apart.

They lay together for a long moment, trying to catch their breath. Ian needs a moment to come down from the intensity of the orgasm, it feels like too much and not enough at the same time. He feels loose and sated but terrified to stand up and leave.

Eventually, he does.

He pulls away from Mickey, grabbing a couple tissues to clean himself up, readjusting his scrubs and running a hand through his hair. He stands for a long moment staring at the door, mentally preparing himself for what he’s about to do.

“So, this is it?” Mickey says, he sounds uncharacteristically timid.

Ian turns his head. Mickey’s sitting on the edge of the bunk again, his hair dishevelled and scrubs haphazardly pulled back on.

“You and me, we’re done?”

Ian's eyes feel damp, “Weren’t we already?” Mickey lowers his eyes and Ian can see the unshed tears brimming. It breaks his heart. “I don’t know what else to do, Mick.”

Mickey nods and sniffs, “We still friends?”

Ian swallows. He doesn’t know how to be Mickey’s friend. Ian’s been in love with him for so long that it feels like they were never just friends. But they were, to Mickey at least. Ian remembers Mandy saying that Mickey’s never had friends, no one else to depend on. But Ian was someone Mickey could depend on, someone to trust and look out for, knowing that he’s doing the same.

He should say no. He should tell Mickey that they can’t be friends. It’s what's best for both of them - common sense.

“Yeah,” Ian chokes out, nodding, “Yeah, we’re still friends.” He breathes in, sees the relief on Mickey’s face and feels the echo of it in his chest.

Mickey doesn’t say another word, Ian doesn’t push for anything else. There isn’t something else to say. By the time they see each other again the entire nature of their relationship will be different. They’ll have to be different.

How does he end that? What is there to say? How does Ian say goodbye?

He doesn’t.

He just leaves.

-

The thing about trying to be friends with your ex is that it never works. Or rarely ever works.

It’s not that Ian doesn’t try, because he does. Mickey asked, and there's very little in the world that Ian wouldn't give Mickey is he asks. So, Ian swallows his pain, bares through the ache in his chest, and pretends that Mickey is nothing more than a friend. But despite Ian’s attempts at denial, he knows that he and Mickey can never be just friends. It is the tragedy of loving someone with the entirety of his heart that refuses to love him in return.

It lasts a few months before Ian reaches out to Lip about the job in Washington. The interview process is more intense than anything Ian's ever done before, but with Lip's recommendation and a glowing reference from Doctor Samuels (though he makes it clear he is not pleased with Ian's decision), Ian is offered the job with a week to officially accept.

Ian waffles over the decision. He weighs the pros and cons, trying his best not to allow Mickey to factor into his decision and failing each time. By the end of the week, he is still in turmoil, and it's Lip who finally talks some sense into him.

“Fucking stop pretending Mickey isn’t going to affect your decision,” Lip says, “He is already. Ian, it’s a good job and an amazing opportunity that I really pushed for you to get. You’d have a better chance to do research and in my opinion, you’d be working with some of the best doctors in the country.” Lip puts his hand on Ian’s shoulder, holding him in place to drive his point home. “Your hospital is good, Ian, it is, but it's got the one thing that is holding you back - Mickey. What you’ve got to consider is whether you want to stay put and torture yourself over something that’s never gonna happen, or if it’s time to move forward.”

The next day Ian files all the paperwork, gives his notice to the Chief of Medicine, and takes the position in Washington.

Mickey doesn't speak to Ian again until he stops Ian on his last shift as he is about to walk out the door.

“So, you’re really going then?”

Ian nods and opens his mouth to speak but finds he has nothing to say - nothing that could easily sum up all he is feeling. He swallows, eyes boring into Mickey’s, looking for one last sign that he is giving up too soon.

But, of course, as it has been for the past six months, there is nothing to be found. Mickey lifts a hand, not even a real wave goodbye, and says, “Good luck out there, Gallagher.”

And that is the last time Ian sees Mickey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This chapter is angsty - it ends on a bad note. 
> 
> If anyone remembers the original posting... it never really gets fixed from here. 
> 
> So, here is my promise going forward, there will be a happy ending. It might take awhile, and some stuff may seem familiar, but I am writing a final chapter that will build on the kind of teased final chapter that I previously had. If you didn't not read the original posting of this story.... well, ignore this? 
> 
> If you have any questions, hmu on tumblr and I'll do my best to answer. Thanks for reading, you're all super.


	11. The End: and i will love with urgency...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Years Later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is still angsty. If you are sensitive to that, check the end notes for a couple warning.
> 
> Chapter subtitle is from Not With Haste by Mumford & Sons

**Three Years Later.  
** **_May._ **

Ian is drunk. He isn’t supposed to drink, and yet, he still did.

It’s not Ian’s fault, he just wants to forget this night ever happened. (Actually, maybe that makes it completely his fault).

In the last year of his residency, Ian was offered the opportunity to assist a neurosurgeon on another research project. To some extent, it builds off of the work from Lip project that Ian moved to Washington for (which is possibly why he was offered the opportunity). It's examining how a deeper study of the effects of hallucinogenics on the brain could lead to real and permanent treatment for serious mental illnesses. Even now, after a year and a half of research and work, they have barely gotten any tangible results. Due to the nature of their research, it is both controversial and difficult to actually test.

(Ian loves the idea of a permanent solution, but he’s not sure how realistic it’s going to end up being. Still, the work he is doing is some of the most fulfilling he has ever done.)

Ian’s spent the past year travelling to different hospitals, looking into the new data and information. He's studied so many brain scans that he’s started to forget what anything else in the world looks like. It’s good though, he’s been busy and happy that way. He feels like the work he is doing can have an incredibly meaningful impact on the world, and it’s exhilarating.

So his work is not the reason he is drinking. 

The reason he is drinking is that he just did his first solo presentation at a medical conference. He was hoping to inspire more medical professionals to get involved with their research, or at least pressure the government to allow more testing, but completely fucking blew it. He forgot half of what he was saying, mumbled and stuttered through the other half. He sweat through his shirt and tripped going both on and off stage. It was easily the most embarrassing moment of his life, and because he is being put up in the hotel that the conference is being held at, there is no escape.

It doesn’t help that he’s back in Chicago for the conference. He is positive that he saw his former Attending, Doctor Samuels, watching him fuck up with a smug smirk. (Doctor Samuels had been very insulted when Ian left the hospital. He called Ian ungrateful and expressed how unprecedented it was to switch hospitals - and states - during a residency. Still, he gave Ian a great reference so Ian knows it's only because he at least respected Ian as a medical professional).

So, Ian is camped out at the bar, on his fifth drink of the night. Trying in vain to hide his face so that no one can recognize him from that God awful fucking talk. It might work, but he suspects not when some guy sits down in the seat right next to him. Ian ducks his head, taking another drink and praying that they’ll order quickly and go away.

Then the guy starts speaking, and Ian’s head shoots up.

“When I was about fuckin’ nine or ten, the guys I used to hang out with at school dared me to ask this girl out. She was one of those nicely groomed, fuckin’ pigtails and curls, pretty blonde hair types. And y’know, I was never like that.”

Mickey Milkovich is sitting next to Ian at the bar. He's wearing a nice shirt and dress pants, talking to Ian like it hasn’t been years since they’ve seen each other. Ian isn't quite sure how to handle it. Mickey doesn’t seem to notice that Ian is in crisis and keeps talking.

“Obviously I don’t like her but I think, fuck it, all the guys are telling me to go over there and whatever. I walk up to her, tell her that we should go and get like a burger or some shit. Didn’t even ask just told her because I was a cocky shit. And she looks at me like I’m the grossest fuckin’ thing on the planet. I swear, sometimes I still think of the look on this girl’s face when I said it.” Mickey shakes his head and snatches up Ian’s drink, taking a long swig like it’s been the hardest day of his. “Fuckin’ girls, man. So she screams and calls me gross, says no, and runs away with her friends. These guys are laughing and making fun of me, I’m laughing with them because whatever. But shit, that was a bad time. I felt fuckin’ shitty after that.”

Ian blinks and realizes that he’s gaping at Mickey like a fucking idiot. He closes his mouth and clears his throat trying to re-situate himself. “Are you - Is that - uhm,” Ian tries to fumble his way through more than two words. He realizes that this might actually be more embarrassing than the whole talk was.

“Gallagher,” Mickey says, putting his hand on Ian’s arm and drawing Ian’s focus solely onto himself. It’s sudden and grounding in a way Ian didn’t even realize he had been missing. “Trade-off. I saw your talk, figured it’d make you feel better to know that we all have shitty days sometimes.”

Ian smiles and lets out a small laugh, his eyes feel a little watery. “I don’t think asking a girl out when you were nine is the same as the disaster I was out there.”

Mickey shrugs, “Nah, but that’s all I fuckin’ got for you.”

Ian laughs then, loud and free. He’s still drunk, feels a little loose and messy, but suddenly also very, very good.

“Hey Mick,” Ian says.

Mickey shoots him a crooked smile, “Hey Ian.”

Ian takes a moment to stare at Mickey, take it in and will himself to believe that this is real. This isn’t a dream, Mickey is right there, right next to him, tangible and still holding onto his forearm. It doesn’t feel like it should be real, Ian’s sure he’s imagined this a million times since he left Chicago.

Ian has to shake his head out and laugh again, “Wow, uh - Hey. Mickey. Wow.”

Mickey snorts and takes his hand away then, swatting the back of Ian’s head lightly before leaning back in his seat. “C’mon, Gallagher, don’t act so surprised.”

“It’s been a long time,” Ian says. “I didn’t expect to see you here or-” Ian stops himself, but Mickey seems to catch onto where the thought was headed.

Mickey scratches his nose, a nervous tick. God, being near him is like listening to your favourite song for the first time. Ian had forgotten the impact Mickey had.

“Or ever?” Mickey finishes. “Did you want that? I can go.”

“No, no. Definitely not, I didn’t mean that.” Ian corrects, barely holding himself back from reaching out to grab onto Mickey. “I, uhm, I didn’t expect you. It’s good though, it’s really fucking good to see you again.”

Mickey smiles, smaller and sadder than before, “Yeah, same.” He takes a moment to order a beer as the bartender comes over and then turns his attention back to Ian. “Hospital hasn’t been the same without you. Got this whole group of asshole interns. Think they’re all hot shit or something now that they’re about to be doctors, but none of them has got a fuckin’ clue. Dana’s one back talking shithead away from smacking them all.”

Ian thinks back to his days at the hospital with Mickey. He can remember all the days sitting in the cafeteria and listening to Mickey complain about how much he hates all the doctors, half of the office staff and most of the custodians. It almost feels like déjà vu.

“Sorry I left, could have been bitter and angry like you.”

Mickey raises his eyebrows, looking over at Ian with the hint of a smile playing at his lips, “Fuckin’ sassy now, huh. What happened to the mumbling mess earlier?”

Ian shrugs, “Guess you cured me.”

“Oh yeah, so you want to head on up there for an encore now.”

Ian gives Mickey a gentle shove as he laughs, “Fuck off. I’m never doing that again.”

“Yeah. As much as I want to be able to say I support you in all your endeavours, I think that’s one you should give up on.”

Ian blinks and tilts his head at the uncharacteristically open and caring statement. “You want to support me in all my endeavours?”

Mickey looks at Ian like he’s grown a third eye. “Of course. You’re good shit, Gallagher. Not a lot of people on that list, but you are.”

Ian’s heart beats faster and he has to look away, take a moment not to be completely focused on Mickey. It doesn’t work, of course, Mickey’s presence is and always has been all-encompassing. Ian wonders if it’s strange to forget that you're still in love with someone. No, forget is the wrong word, because he never forgot, it’s always been there.

He’s dated here and there, nothing serious and nothing lasting, because none of it ever compared. Nothing even came close to the exhilaration and joy Ian felt with Mickey. So, no, he never forgot. It faded to the back of his mind, a dormant thought waiting to be set off at the right moment.

This moment, as it turns out.

“What have you been doing?” Ian asks, he feels shaken but refuses to let it show. “Since you now know what I’ve been working on.”

Mickey cocks an eyebrow, “Same as always. Taking care of ungrateful fuckin’ patients that bitch about the water not being cold enough. Never appreciate that we’re trying to keep five other fuckin’ people alive.” Mickey shrugs, takes a sip of his beer, and smiles, “It’s good though.”

Ian nods, “Good. You’re an amazing nurse, I can’t imagine you doing something different actually.”

“Nah, me either. Not that I ever thought it’d be like that when I was younger. Fuckin’ hilarious sometimes, looking back, thinking about where you are now.” His voice softens as he turns to Ian, “Where you could’ve been.”

It feels heavy - too heavy - suddenly all too much, and Ian panics.

“The army.” Ian’s says it a little too quick and loud, it’s stupid and he hates himself a little bit for it. He coughs into his fist and tries not to notice the furrow in Mickey’s brow. “Uhm, when I was younger I wanted to join the army. The Air Force, actually, I wanted to fly. But it didn’t work out.”

Mickey smiles and shakes his head, “Hero complex.”

Ian blinks, “That’s what Lip, my-”

“Your brother says?” Mickey cuts him off, “Yeah, I remember. You told me that once, that you became a doctor and your brother said it’s a hero complex. I get it.”

Ian smiles, he remembers that too, lying in bed and talking about their lives. It was pillow-talk, despite the strong restrictions Mickey had put on their not-relationship. A sweet moment, whispering to each other about their motivations; who they were and how they had gotten to this point.

“Mickey,” Ian frowns and stops himself, he’s not sure if this is a good idea. He knows without a doubt that whatever he felt for Mickey all those years ago is still there for him. But is it still for Mickey? Is it worth pursuing or should he leave it all in the past?

“Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”

Because even if the chance is slim, it’s still there, and Ian will regret it forever if he doesn’t try.

Mickey leans back in his chair, eyes boring into Ian’s and chewing on his lip as he seems to mull over Ian’s question. Ian can see the cogs turning in Mickey’s mind. Considering what Ian is asking, where they were before and what could happen now if Mickey were to say yes.

Or if he were to say no, again.

“Ian, I- fuck, I don’t know how to say this.”

“Mick, it’s not what you were thinking, I’m just-”

“I’m getting married.”

Ian’s blood runs cold, colour draining from his face and leaving him frozen.

“Fuck, maybe we should actually go somewhere a little quieter to talk,” Mickey mutters and rubs a hand over his face.

Ian shakes his head and swallows, “No, no. It’s fine. I mean, it’s been a while, right? I can’t expect that you are still…” He peters off into silence and leans on the bar, “It’s not - I mean, this isn’t-”

“Not a woman,” Mickey answers, he has always been perceptive to the way Ian’s mind works. “He’s actually another doctor, un-fuckin’-believable that I fell for another one of you assholes.”

Ian nods numbly. He didn’t see this coming, every time he thought of Mickey or imagined what his life was like, he never saw this coming.

“Fell for another?” Ian asks, looking over to Mickey finally. “You mean…”

Mickey’s face falls and he nods, “I loved you. Fuckin’ stupid, but I always thought you knew.”

I _loved_ you. 

It’s like a knife through his heart. Those words he yearned for, for so long, finally said and confirming what he had hoped. It hurts more than the absence of knowledge did.

Mickey looks around the bar and stands, grabbing onto Ian’s bicep and tugging. “C’mon, let’s go talk somewhere.”

“Mickey, it’s fine, I’m completely-”

“No, you’re not.” Mickey says firmly, “Please, come with me, I want to - I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

Ian wants to argue that Mickey doesn’t. And he doesn’t, not really. They’re old flames, that’s all. Ian has never had any claim over Mickey. Even if he had at the time, any and all rights to know about Mickey’s life disappeared the second Ian left Chicago. But Ian doesn’t say that. He lets Mickey pull him away, follows him out of the hotel and down the street. Ian knows where they are, he recognizes the streets, and soon they’re walking into Mickey’s apartment.

It’s the same as it’s always been and Ian feels like he’s finally come home.

Except it’s not his home, it never was.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Mickey asks, sees the way Ian sways and then says, “I’ll get you some water.”

Ian wants to argue but figures that it’s best. His head feels messy and tangled, some water could do him good. Mickey brings over a glass filled to the brim and leads Ian to sit on the couch. Ian notices immediately that the worn old blanket Mickey used to have has been replaced by a new, soft faux-fur throw. It seems so out of place.

“You’re getting married,” Ian mutters, mostly to himself, as he stares at the blanket.

“I met him about a year after you left. He’s at a different hospital but their MRI machine broke down so he had to bring a patient to our hospital. And it fuckin’ happened. I dunno.” Mickey breathes out, Ian’s not looking but he can almost sense the way Mickey licks his lips and rubs his hand on his pants. “He sat down at my table and we talked and he… fuck, he made me laugh. I felt like I hadn’t laughed since you left.”

Ian looks over then, sees the way Mickey’s staring at him like his heart's been torn out.

“I should’ve said something to stop you from going, and I didn’t. That’s on me. But fuck, I missed you so much, Ian.”

Ian’s eyes feel a little wet and his throat thick, “I missed you too.”

“The only reason me and him have gotten this far, the only reason we could have, is you. I never let myself believe I could love someone until you, and then I just couldn’t admit it out loud. I fuckin’ hate myself for that, but I guess it got me here.” Mickey’s looking down at his hands now, “He’s my whole world and I… I wouldn’t be here without you. So, thank you.”

Ian furrows his brow, Mickey’s watching him with a painful amount of sincerity. It hurts.

“Thank you and I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

Ian nods, “Yeah. I guess you’re welcome.”

Ian chugs back some water and tries to clear his thoughts. He never thought he would hear an apology from Mickey. Not for that, not for anything. It is out of character, though maybe not anymore. It’s been so long that he doesn’t know Mickey anymore. He thinks for a second that it’s very nice to hear an apology. It’s what he’s been waiting for to close the door on Mickey and move on with his life.

Then the second is over, and Ian is mad.

“I-” He stops and swallows, “I... loved you. I loved you so fucking much, I thought that there wasn’t a single person in the world who could compare to you. I haven’t had a boyfriend, a real boyfriend, since before I even met you. I would have done anything - given up anything - just for you. Just to make you happy and hope that one day you could love me back.” His voice is getting louder and sharper as he speaks, the momentum of his words rolling. “I loved you for years, I loved you always - despite everything. I have loved you since the moment I fucking saw you. I love you.”

It’s silent, Mickey’s lips are parted as he stares at Ian.

“I love you, still. _Always_.” Ian takes a deep breath, tries to hold it together but he’s failing, “And you - you found someone else? I fucking tried so hard to be everything for you, and you go off and find someone else to fall in love with. And then you fucking thank me?”

“You left!” Mickey snaps, finally breaking from his trance. “I needed time, I needed to work it all out in my own fuckin’ time, but you wouldn’t let that happen. You kept fuckin’ pushing and pushing, and then you up and left.” Mickey points an accusing finger and shakes his head, “You don’t put this shit on me. You left me and I moved on. Just because you never did doesn’t make me bad for doing it.”

Mickey’s right, of course, Ian knows he is. It still aches so terribly. His chest hurts. He wants to curl up in a ball for the rest of his life to try and avoid anything that could make him hurt like this again.

“Why couldn’t you have loved me?” Ian asks weakly, desperately. “I could have been a good boyfriend, a good fucking husband. I could have been if you would have let me.”

Mickey softens a bit, walking over and putting an arm around Ian’s shoulder to pull him into Mickey’s side. It’s comfortable and warm, everything Ian’s been missing since he left Mickey’s arms.

“I loved you,” Mickey whispers, “I did. I promise you, I did. I think I still do a bit, but it’s not the same anymore. I wasn’t in the right place back then, Ian. You would have been a great boyfriend, I know that, but I wouldn’t have. Fuck, you would hate me as much as you do right now.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“I know.”

“It’s just, you and me, I’ve never felt something like that anywhere else,” Ian says, it’s so painfully honest that he feels the urge to hide his face in Mickey’s shirt. He doesn’t, but mostly out of fear that he would never move again.

Mickey’s hand rubs up and down on Ian’s back, he rests his cheek against Ian’s shoulder, “I know.”

“You’re getting married.”

“It’s… different,” Mickey answers, “It’s not the - we had something special. It’s a different love, not less, just different.”

“But it wasn’t enough, I wasn’t enough.” Ian murmurs, pitiful thoughts continuing to circle in his mind. He hates this.

Mickey shakes his head, “Fuck Ian, no one would have been enough at that point. You don’t get how hard it is, you never did. I spent years hating myself and that didn’t change because I came out. That’s what I’m trying to tell you here, Ian. It was never you, it was always me. I didn’t need you to be more or better. You were perfect,” Ian shakes his head at that and feels Mickey’s arm tighten around him. “Nah, you fuckin’ were. I couldn’t be that for you, and I knew it. I wanted to be, but it scared the shit out of me. I could deal with wanting to fuck guys and not girls - I could do that. I could accept that. But then the whole boyfriends, it was - I dunno. You got it, that night when you told me I was ashamed. I was - but I was never ashamed of you.”

Ian sniffs trying in vain to hold back the tears in his eyes. Mickey must have thought it would be some sort of comfort. Telling Ian that it wasn’t his fault, that he did everything he could, but all it makes Ian feel is more regret.

“I never should have left,” Ian says, “I should have stayed and been there for you. I should have waited, maybe one day you would have been ready. Fuck, I’m so stupid I should have waited.”

Mickey curls his fingers under Ian’s chin and tilts his head up. He looks at him with such pity that it’s like one more knife to Ian’s heart. “Ian, you can’t think like that,” Mickey whispers. “What happened happened.”

Ian nods, looks down, “But if I had stayed, if I had waited, can you tell me honestly that you wouldn’t be marrying me - married to me? Can you tell me, honestly, that it wouldn’t be me?”

Mickey backs away then, biting his lower lip and shaking his head. “Ian, you don’t want to think about that.”

“I already am, Mick, so answer.”

Ian feels his bitterness, his anger sweeping back again. He’s not mad at Mickey, he isn’t, but he’s mad at everything else. He’s mad at himself, at the fucking conference, his job in Washington. He's mad at Mickey’s fucking doctor fiance and that stupid fucking faux-fur blanket that is clearly not Mickey’s. Mostly, he’s mad that right now, standing in front of Mickey, he’s sure that if he had fucking stayed, this could be him.

“Ian.” It’s a warning, Ian recognizes that still. Mickey’s trying to stay calm and reserved, but Ian’s starting to push.

Good. Ian wants Mickey to be mad. He wants Mickey to feel the same burning rage that Ian does.

“That says enough, doesn’t it. That I’m right. It would be me.” Ian’s lip curls up as he meets Mickey’s steely gaze. He can see it, Mickey’s on the edge and Ian wants him to fucking crack.

“It wouldn’t.”

Ian flinches, “What?”

“You want the truth? You want to know if you would be in his place, marrying me, if you hadn’t fuckin’ left? Well, you wouldn’t.” Mickey shrugs like it’s the simplest truth he’s ever known, and another piece of Ian breaks. “You want to know why? ‘Course you do. You wouldn’t ask if you didn’t. It’s this fuckin’ bullshit!” Mickey finally raises his voice, gestures his hand back and forth between himself and Ian. “It’s this shit with you constantly pushing and arguing for what you need - what you fuckin’ want. You think you could have been patient enough to wait for me to be ready? Fuck off! You wouldn’t. You would’ve waited a bit, let me get comfortable again, and then bitched your fuckin’ face off about what’s important to you.”

Ian doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to even move his mouth to make a noise.

“You were a great boyfriend, but I didn’t need a fuckin’ boyfriend - I didn’t want one. I needed someone to be patient - to not push me and let me figure it out on my own - and you were never going to be that guy.”

Ian nods, he feels fucking numb. “I’m sorry,” Ian whispers. “I didn’t realize - I thought…” He trails off, unsure of what he was even trying to say. He shakes his head and wipes away the tears from his cheeks, “I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re happy, Mick. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, I do.” Mickey answers and sucks on his lip, watching Ian and contemplating. Ian can see that way he’s considering his words now, letting his anger fade back away. “I shouldn’t have interrupted your night. Fuckin’ ruined it.”

Ian shrugs, sniffing loudly again. “At least I’m not thinking about that fucking presentation anymore.”

Mickey snorts, his lips lifting up at the corners into a small smile, “Yeah, that’s true.”

They stand in the awkward silence, trying in vain to think of how their conversation continues from here. What left is there to say, after all.

“Are you starting to sober up?” Mickey asks. Ian nods and shoves his hands in his pants pockets, it probably looks childish but he’s comfortable. Mickey gestures to the kitchen, “Do you want another glass of water?”

Ian shakes his head. He does want a glass of water, his throat feels so parched it’s painful, but he can’t accept it. “I should go,” Ian answers instead.

Mickey doesn’t argue, he nods and leads Ian to the door. Ian pauses at the doorway, looks down at Mickey and takes a second to really look at him. He looks the same as ever, of course, and Ian still doesn’t think he’s seen a more beautiful person in his life. He hates how awkward it feels between them now, but he supposes at least he’ll never see Mickey again.

Which means there’s nothing to lose anymore.

“I don’t want you to answer and I’ll leave right after I say this, “ Ian starts, already seeing the hesitance in Mickey’s eyes. Ian ignores it and continues, “I love you, Mickey. I’ll love you forever. And I know that timing between us was wrong, it’s all okay though, because I still got a chance to love you. I wish it was longer, I’d give anything to have more, but I get it. I can’t blame you for finding happiness with someone else, and I don’t. Or I’ll try not to. I guess I wanted to say, that I know for a fact that we were meant to meet and that I was meant to love you. It’s the only thing in the world I’ve ever been sure of. I love you, I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed, I wish I could be that for you now. And I know that I will spend the rest of my life wishing that I could be.”

Ian doesn’t wait to see Mickey’s reaction, he can’t bear to see what it is. Instead, he rushes out the door. He walks down the street letting his mind replay the night on a loop, thinking through every little detail of their conversation. Finally, he returns to the hotel and heads up to his room. His mind is spinning and he needs a fucking break.

-

**_December._ **

During an early Christmas holiday visit with his family, Ian sees Mickey again. Mickey's walking down the street at some outdoor Christmas market. It's a thousand times too cold to be outside, but still, he is there, hand-in-hand with another man.

Ian thinks about going over to say hello, a quick and short greeting before going on his way. It seems polite and Ian prepares himself to do it. Then Mickey walks closer and Ian sees a glint of gold metal flashing on his left hand.

It's a wedding ring.

Ian stares for a moment longer because, well, _Mickey looks so happy_. And then he leaves.

-

It gets better with time.

It starts with days, and God, they feel the longest. His mind circles back to Mickey, to his smile, his hand and the shining gold on his finger. Minutes tick on, feeling like centuries. He can't stop thinking about Mickey. He thinks of Mickey's smile when he's waking up, drowsy and happy. He thinks of Mickey's laugh, obnoxious and kind of ugly but beautiful. He thinks of the way Mickey felt in his arms, warm and cosy, fit against him like they were always meant to be that way.

The first days are the hardest to get through.

But days turn into weeks and then months and then a year. Because no matter how much it hurts, time doesn't stop for a broken heart. No matter how badly Ian wants to wallow and ache, time ticks on, and it gets better. It hurts less and less.

His career takes off. His research starts to produce real results and the people he meets - the lives he changes - it is incredible. He starts seriously considering pursuing an attending position, and takes pleasure in teaching interns and guiding new residents, not unlike himself a few years before.

It's slow and painful, but it does get better.

Of course, he still thinks of Mickey, less often but still - sometimes.

There's a day, Ian is walking down the halls of the hospital and sees an intern rushing into the closet to hide. Ian shoves his hands in his pockets and smiles fondly at the closed door. It's not the same one, not even the same hospital, but Ian is filled with memories.

Ian remembers how scared he was that day. He had only just discovered a job that he felt passionate about and was already sure that he had fucked it up. The fear was overwhelming and painful, but Mickey had seen that and changed it all.

He's given Ian more than Ian will ever be able to thank him for. Mickey taught Ian to believe in himself, as cheesy as it sounds. Because of Mickey, Ian created a career and life for himself. One that he looks at and feels so fucking proud.

Mickey told Ian, all those years ago, that every year there was one intern that cracked and hid somewhere to break down. Ian waits for it now, because it is true - there's always one. It varies with the years, but Ian watches. He doesn't follow the intern at that moment. He lets them have that moment without any additional embarrassment of their Attending watching them breakdown.

It's later that Ian pulls them aside and tells them his own story. How he used to be that intern and that he understands. He tells them about a nurse that changed his life and how he knows it is hard right now - and that it never gets easy - but he knows they can make it. After all, Ian did.

Ian still thinks that Mickey is the greatest love of his life - the only love of his life. But that's the thing about love - the greatest loves never last. They're meant to be fleeting, otherwise, you would burn to pieces from the intensity of it.

He's okay without that, he's made his peace.

Which is, of course, when he runs into Mickey again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: There's mention of Mickey/OMC and very, very brief appearance when Ian sees them together from a distance. (I'm going to update the tags, I just wasn't entirely sure I was going to include this or not and finally decided that I would.)
> 
> Okay, so, this is more or less where I ended it last time (minus the meeting Mickey again bit) and I will defend that this is not a sad ending - it's bittersweet! Ian & Mickey both find fulfillment and growth. The whole idea of this was that sometimes a romance that is great & someone who is so dear to you, isn't there forever but it still matters, is important, and can have a profound and good impact on your life (fyi - this mirrored the show at the time as they were not together and it didn't look like they ever would be). 
> 
> **Anyways, there will be a genuine final chapter. It will have a happy ending for Ian & Mickey as a couple. It's just maybe gonna take awhile since I'm writing it from scratch... and also I haven't fully planned it out yet. ** \---> (people seem to be missing this. There is one more chapter coming......... This is part 1 of the ending.)

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr @ [meganwwrites](http://meganwwrites.tumblr.com)


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